


Into the Dark Age

by Sadbhyl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time.  In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

“Buffy, be reasonable.”

Pacing the confines of Giles’ study, Buffy couldn’t help but sigh. She had known coming back here was risky, but despite everything, she had missed her friends and wanted to see them. Since they couldn’t seem to find the time to come to Italy, it just made the most sense for her to escort Dawn back to London to start college and stick around to see everyone.

She’d thought Giles would wait more than twenty-four hours.

“Dawn’s an adult now,” he continued, studying her critically from where he leaned against the front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “She’s started at Cambridge now, with a full scholarship.”

“Which you helped her get.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “Which doesn’t alter the fact that your responsibility to her is done. It’s time to see to your other obligations.”

“I can’t, Giles. I’m . . .” How could she explain it to him? That she’d spent the last year trying to heal, trying to remember what it was like to be a real girl. Lying on the beach every day, dancing in the clubs at night, a string of casual and not so casual romances. But none of it had helped heal the damage the last few years in Sunnydale had caused. “I’m just not ready.”

“The girls here need you,” he went on gently. “You’re one of the longest lived Slayers on record. They want to learn from you.”

She snorted. “Most often dead, you mean. Can’t teach them much about that except to have friends who’ll bring them back.” She softened. “They’re better off with Faith. At least she’s never died.”

“No, she just went to prison.”

“Well.” She shrugged.

Something winked at her from one of the shelves in the morning sunlight. Buffy reached for it and found a long strand of glass beads, a rainbow of colors and soft with age. She pulled them through her hand, enjoying the cool satin feel of them against her palm.

“Buffy,” Giles said from behind her, his voice both cajoling and sympathetic. “I understand that you needed to get away for a while. If I thought it was doing you any good, I’d let you stay, but can you really say it’s helped any?”

“That’s not the point.” Wrapping the beads around her hand, she closed her fist over the strands to watch them sparkle across her knuckles. “I just need to be away from it for a while.” She looked back at him. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

She’d thought he would get offended. Instead he dropped his head and smiled. “Oh, I understand. I ran away when I was your age, too, remember.”

Turning to face him, she rested her hands on the library table and leaned back. “It’s not the same thing.”

Giles shrugged. “I had a responsibility I hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. I was forced to do it anyway. Finally, I left. I didn’t have half your excuse, though.” He looked down at his shoes. “Nor did I handle myself half so well.”

“See?” Buffy smiled ruefully. “Nothing alike.” She stepped away from the table. “Besides, I’m starting to think you weren’t as bad as you’ve said. You wouldn’t be such a nice guy now if you were.”

His eyes narrowed. “I think you’d be surprised.”

“You know what I think?” Teasing him distracted him from nagging her to come back. “I think you just told us all that stuff to scare us. I think Ethan was the real troublemaker and you,” she pointed at him accusingly, “took all the responsibility for it.”

Giles wasn’t paying any attention to her words, his attention fixed on the strand of beads coiled around her hand. “Buffy,” he said carefully, “where did you . . .”

But she was on a roll. “I bet you just tried to be all tough, but really you were just a big old cream puff. Oh, I wish I’d known you back then!”

“Buffy, no!”

He reached for her, but it was already too late.

The world didn’t change in the blink of an eye. It couldn’t.

Buffy scrambled backward until her back hit a wall. What in the hell was going on?

Six pairs of eyes watched her in puzzlement. But six strangers were the least of her concerns at the moment. The smoky, dimly lit room was not even remotely familiar. Mismatched armchairs, worn couch, tattered rugs . . . all the hallmarks of a cheaply furnished apartment, a first apartment. No one she knew lived like this anymore. No one she knew had ever lived like this, except maybe Xander in his parent’s basement.

Her left hand blindly hit upon dead air and she followed it, frantic for any means of escape. All she found was a dark hallway that led nowhere. At the moment, instinct was screaming at her to hide, to get away from the others, to be alone so she could make some sense of this, so she took the opportunity that presented itself. She went through the first open door she came across, slamming it shut and fumbling around the handle to find a lock of some sort. She was relieved when she heard the lock click home. It wasn’t much, and really wouldn’t stop anyone determined to get at her, but it gave her space to think and, at the moment, that was everything.

Buffy leaned against the door trying to get her bearings. Not easy to do when her head was foggy and floaty feeling.

“Focus, Buffy, you can figure this out,” she said aloud, but she was finding it extremely difficult to think straight at the moment. The room was completely dark, and yet she kept seeing these odd little flashes of light. Closing her eyes didn’t make them go away. She felt along both sides of the door, blinding herself when she flicked the switch.

She tried to order her thoughts, but her head was spinning. Giles. She had been talking to Giles. She had said something. Teasing him about his own rebellion. And then . . .

“And then I made a wish. God, Buffy!” She smacked her head back against the door. “Haven’t you learned _anything_?”

That explained why she was suddenly in a dark apartment, nearly suffocated by incense and feeling drugged. Probably because she was. Drugged and back in nineteen-seventy-something hanging out with Giles and his friends. Oh yeah, great wish.

Buffy hit her head against the door. Yup, pain. This was real. She did it again for good measure.

“Idiot!” she cursed herself.

There was a knock at the door. “Oi, Annie, you alright in there?” It was the voice of a young man, slightly bored and more than a little annoyed. The voice was familiar, but it didn’t sound like Giles, even a younger Giles. “Shoulda told me you hadn’t done LSD before.”

That went a long way to explaining the drugged feeling. And why, now that she could see again, that the pulsing of the bathroom light was suddenly one of the most fascinating things she had seen.

“Can’t help you if you won’t let me in,” the man said, rattling the doorknob.

She wasn’t going to be able to hide. She would just have to brazen it out. If only her acting skills didn’t suck so much.

“Just a second,” Buffy replied finally. Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from the door, not altogether steady on her feet, and made her way to the sink. She went to turn on the cold water but stopped as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She didn’t look horrible, but she certainly wasn’t a walking fashion statement either. Her hair was stick-straight, hanging like a curtain around her face as dark-lined eyes stared out. Was it possible to wear more eyeliner? A white peasant blouse and faded jeans completed the look. And no bra. Couldn’t forget that.

Squaring her shoulders, Buffy turned away from the mirror and walked over to the door. She unlocked it and stepped back.

Whoever was on the other side opened the door.

He was about a head or so taller than her with dark, wavy hair that fell to about an inch above his shoulders. Chocolate eyes, unreadable, watched her closely from a face that could only be described as pretty. Fine features, sharp and smooth at the same time. What little bit of artistic appreciation she had picked up from her mother told Buffy that this was the look that ancient sculptors tried to recreate. It also made his age difficult to determine; he looked younger than her, but he didn’t seem it. The loose poet’s shirt he wore complemented his tightly-fitted leather pants and showcased a lean frame that couldn’t quite be called scrawny.

The young man waited easily under her gaze. “How you holdin’ up?” he asked after a moment, a bit of concern in his voice this time.

“Uh, a little wigged, but I think I’ll manage.” Honesty couldn’t hurt, right?

“Well, you’ll manage a lot better back with the rest of us. You don’t want to be alone when it really takes effect.” He flashed her a wry smirk. Offering his hand, he said, “You ready?”

No, but she didn’t have any other choice. Buffy took his hand and let him lead her back to the main room.

“Thought you said your girl could handle this.” A mousy woman sneered at them from where she lay draped over the couch.

“Sod off, Deidre,” Buffy’s companion retorted. “At least she didn’t spend the entire night in the coat closet like someone else did.” He gave her a pointed look.

Deidre glared at him, but otherwise didn’t respond as she turned her attention back to the thickly built man at her feet.

The man at Buffy’s side threw an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. It should not have felt as good as it did. “If Phillip and Thomas weren’t so besotted with the bint, we’d have tossed her over ages ago,” he whispered, the faint brush of his lips sending a pleasant shiver through her body.

It had to be the drug. She was not getting turned on by one of Giles’ friends. Especially when all but one of them were currently dead where she came from. And it would probably be a good idea to figure out which one of Giles’ circle was nibbling at her neck in the most distracting way. Deidre was on the couch. Phillip and Thomas weren’t this guy since he’d just put them down. Definitely not Giles. Who had Giles said they killed? Roy? Robert? Randall. Randall maybe? Hopefully. Because if it wasn’t Randall, then it was—

“Ethan, can’t you keep your hands off Annie for ten minutes?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

Buffy wasn’t sure if it was realizing that Ethan Rayne was putting the moves on her or the voice that spoke the words that stunned her more. She shoved Ethan away and turned to see a Giles she had only glimpsed in a picture. He was dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt that clung just tight enough to hint at the muscles that defined his broad chest. There were no lines to soften his features, his face young but very hard at the same time. The shaggy but controlled hair that framed his face only made this more apparent. It was the face of a man who followed no one’s authority but his own and dared anyone to tell him otherwise. There was no kindness or compassion there. And without glasses to hide them, his pale green eyes glittered naked and cold as they watched her.

Her taunt to him earlier came back to haunt her. She had seen too much not to be able to read the predator in his every line. _This_ man was completely capable of doing everything Giles had claimed. And more.

  
Her reverie was broken when Ethan spoke, frowning at the other man. “Thank you ever so much, Ripper. She was doing fine until you decided to butt in.”

“She’s not cowering on the floor of the closet, that says something for her,” young Giles observed, his gaze traveling over her in a way that should have disturbed her. Giles checking her out should have equaled a whole world of ew. Instead, Buffy felt her body tremble.

To push the thought away before it could go any further, she asked, “How long until this stuff wears off?”

The only way to describe the smile he gave her was hungry. “It’ll be a while. And it’s hardly begun to take effect.”

And this is why you say no to drugs, she thought. Staying in the bathroom wasn’t looking so bad now. Dealing with this situation sober was one thing, but she wasn’t sober. Things were starting to take on a sharp quality that just wasn’t right.

“You’ve gone and terrified the poor girl. Great job, Ripper!” Ethan said, reaching for her.

Buffy backed away on reflex, but was stopped by the wall.

“She’s dealt with far worse than this. Haven’t you, Annie?” Giles said knowingly. Okay, what was it about his voice, gravelly, low that made her want to do whatever he asked? “But if a little LSD is all it takes to scare you, it’s a good thing you ran away from slaying after all. It’s a wonder you’ve lasted as long as you have.”

Great, even in Crazyworld, she was still a Slayer.

“I’m going to sit down,” she said slowly, carefully edging her way to the armchair she had spotted out of the corner of her eye and sitting in it, “and you are going to tell me what I can expect in the next few hours or whatever until this wears off.” She was tempted to tell them to stop calling her Annie, but going by a derivative her middle name was the least of her concerns at the moment.

“You want to know what it does?” Giles asked. Before she could reply, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up out of the chair, the momentum carrying her forward into his chest. He held her there, forcing her to feel every hard line of his body pressed against her own. “It opens your eyes and frees your mind, heightening every sense. A godsend for casting.” Then his voice dropped to just above a whisper, “And it makes sex indescribable.”

Images flashed through her mind rapid-fire—braced against the wall as he pounded into her from behind . . . bound to the bed, begging for the release he denied her . . . on her knees, supplicant as she sucked him off, his hands tangled in her hair, urging her on . . .

Reality came crashing back as he shoved her away. She would have fallen to the floor if Ethan hadn’t been there to catch her. But she didn’t give Ethan a second thought as she tried to process the wild, crazy sex images her mind had conjured up. Images of sex with Giles. Giles! And they had been hot. Oh, god. Sex with Giles. Sex with Giles!

Buffy looked up at the man in question, trying to make sense of things, but all she got in return was a sneer and a dismissive shake of his head. His manner was so cold; it didn’t mesh with the Giles she knew. But it wasn’t the Giles she knew. She had to remember that.

“Keep your girl out of my way, Ethan. She’s bringing me down,” Giles ordered, his eyes never leaving her as he spoke. He turned away from them, toward Deidre and her companion. “Randall and Thomas are already in back. Join them.”

They obeyed immediately, rising from the couch and brushing past Buffy and Ethan into the hallway beyond. Deidre paused long enough to throw Buffy a smug look before they disappeared through a door at the far end.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said scathingly, bowing shortly before he followed the others. The door slammed behind him.

“I told you not to piss him off, Annie,” Ethan sighed, setting her on her feet. “He’s got a temper you can’t even begin to imagine.”

He left her standing there as he went and threw himself down on the couch. It seemed that Giles wasn’t the only one pissed at her. Not that she cared, because, hey, Ethan. But since he seemed to be the only one who was remotely friendly to her in this place, it probably wasn’t the best idea to alienate him. Technically this Ethan hadn’t done all the things she hated him for. Yet.

“So . . .” she said uncertainly, trying to ignore the pictures floating through her head. “What do we do, wait until Giles gives us the all clear or what?”

“Giles,” Ethan laughed. “Dear girl, you do not want Ripper to hear you call him that. Got a bit of a complex with regards to his family name. And you really don’t want to see Ripper that brassed off.” He chuckled again. “To answer your question, yes, we wait for the ‘all clear’, as you put it.” His face fell as he sighed, “Knew I should have waited to bring you here. Looked like you could handle it, though.”

That got under her skin. “I _can_ handle it. It’s just . . . not what I expected.”

He sat up and patted the cushion next to him. “Come take a load off.” When she didn’t move, he said, “I’m not gonna bite.” His grin gave lie to the words.

She could always beat him back if he tried anything. And while the armchair would be perfectly fine, Buffy didn’t want to be that alone at the moment. But she bypassed the couch and sat on the floor just out of his reach. Probably not smart to get too comfortable right now. Better to sit on the hard floor and risk her butt falling asleep rather than risk anything else.

“Should’ve guessed you were talking a bigger game than you could play. Runaway slayer or no. You’re too fresh, too clean,” he said, then shrugged as if to dismiss it. He shifted on the couch, turning to face her more. His left leg was drawn up on the couch while the right still hung over the edge, and his left arm draped casually over the back of the couch as he regarded her. After a moment he spoke again, “But you seemed like you were worth the chance.”

“Sorry it turned out otherwise” she offered automatically. She felt kind of bad for him. Not that she could lend much credence to her feelings or judgment at the moment, especially when the wallpaper seemed to be moving, something that was both freaky and fascinating at the same time.

“Figured you and Ripper would hit it off better, both of you sticking it to the Council,” he continued, his words pretty much just background noise as the wallpaper took up more of her attention. “Looks like I’m oh for two tonight. Generally, I have better luck.”

“Uh huh,” she said noncommittally, still staring at the wall across the room. Then she had to ask, “Does the wallpaper normally move like that?”

She felt his hand alight gently on her shoulder as he gave a quiet laugh. “And how long has it been doing that?”

“Um, a couple of minutes?” Buffy guessed. His hand was really very warm, and the weight felt kind of nice. Comforting almost. She hoped he wasn’t going to move it anytime soon, maybe it would keep her from floating away. She furrowed her brow. Now that was just a silly thought. Why would—oh yeah. “So it’s starting to kick in, isn’t it?”

“Just,” Ethan laughed again, his hand moving in a small, caressing gesture which sent pleasant waves radiating out from where he touched her. Then he stopped, his hand pulling away.

Buffy looked back at him. “Don’t stop,” she protested before she could bite back the words.

The right corner of his mouth tugged up in amusement. “And here you didn’t even want to sit near me.”

“Well, I changed my mind,” she replied, grabbing his hand and putting it back on her shoulder.

“You think that’s good?” he said, squeezing lightly. “Care to let me try something else?”

Buffy thought about that a moment. She was still the Slayer, right? “Alright,” she agreed warily.

“Turn around then.” He pointed at the wall that had been fascinating her a few moments ago.

She faced the wall again, readjusting her back so it was comfortable against the couch. Yup, still moving, but slower, almost fluid like it was now underwater.

His other hand came to rest on her free shoulder, then they began to move, his thumbs digging into the tight muscle between her shoulder and neck.

“Oh,” she sighed. This was nice.

When he began to move up her neck, Buffy’s head automatically fell forward. Jeez, how long had it been since she’d had one of these? Riley had liked to give them to her after a night of patrol when they were in a less physical mood. Riley. Not since Riley left her? No way. That was . . . that was too long to go with knots in her neck.

“Oh god, right there,” she groaned as he worked the base of her skull. “Jesus, that’s good.”

“You don’t relax much, do you?” he commented, his thumbs kneading the juncture between neck and skull while the rest of his fingers radiated out over her scalp, running over the area in small, soothing circles.

She laughed, but it was somewhat bitter. “That’s all I’ve been doing the last year.”

“Well, you’ve certainly been doing it wrong from what I can tell,” Ethan said lightly, his hands now working back down the way they had ascended.

“Mm hm,” she mumbled. God, the man had wonderful hands. Suddenly this whole wish thing didn’t seem like the worst thing ever.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you, Annie?” he rumbled against her ear, eliciting a pleasant little tingle that washed over her again.

Wonderful hands and wonderful voice. Oh yeah, this definitely wasn’t a bad place to be. Her eyes drifted closed.

“Annie,” he sing-songed, pulling her hair back over her shoulder, kissing delicately down her neck. “You’re gonna miss all the fun if you fall asleep now.”

Buffy wasn’t falling asleep, but she was very warm, very comfortable and she didn’t feel like doing anything to disrupt that feeling, including speaking.

While he kissed her neck, one of his hands slipped under the neck of her shirt, coasting along her bare shoulder and down her arm. The skin to skin contact was exhilarating. She gasped when he gently grazed over her breast.

“Like that?” he asked, doing it again, lingering this time.

She shouldn’t, god, she shouldn’t like it. But she did. What she should be doing was pushing him away. Right now. Her only response was to let her head roll back to rest against his leg, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Yeah,” she managed to sigh.

And then he was kissing her, languid and patient, slowly getting her to open up to him. She raised her left hand up to snake behind his neck, drawing him closer, trying to deepen the kiss, but he would have none of it. This was going to move at his pace. Which was all well and fine, but Buffy needed more.

Ethan broke this kiss. “This would go much better if you’d join me up here.”

“Why don’t you just come down?”

“Soft couch or unforgiving hardwood. Is there really a choice there?” He smiled.

Ooh, good point. But that required movement on her part. And Buffy really wasn’t in the mood to move anywhere at the moment.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he wheedled, his brown eyes watching her, warm and inviting.

She blamed the drugs for being in this position in the first place, let alone considering taking it further. She felt warm and relaxed, and nothing in the world seemed threatening or uncomfortable.

“Annie.” One of his eyebrows went up as if he were trying to figure out what her hesitation was.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked, stalling, trying to summon the motivation to move. She really was comfy on the floor.

“It suits you better than Anne does. Not that Anne is even your real name,” he said knowingly. “Everyone likes to hide. Some of us use names and some of us find other ways.”

Damn, that was profound. It was really profound. Who knew Ethan was so smart?

“Are you sure you can’t come down here?” she asked hopefully.

“No, my girl. You’d regret it in the morning,” he said, brushing her hair out of her face.

I’m sure I’ll be regretting a lot of things in the morning, she thought wryly. Aloud she said, “Help me up?”

Ethan pulled her to her feet, then sat back down, waiting expectantly.

Buffy stood there for a moment, the world around her going topsy-turvy before righting itself again. Yup, major movement really not a good idea right now.

“C’mere,” he said, tugging gently on her hand.

She complied, joining him on the couch, letting him settle her astride his lap. Buffy didn’t close her eyes as she dipped her head down, cautiously tasting Ethan’s lips with her own. But he wouldn’t let her be cautious for long. One of his hands moved to cup the back of her head, drawing her down, holding her there as he deepened the kiss. It was similar to their first kiss, but different at the same time. Ethan still didn’t rush it, but was more insistent than before. He was no longer trying to win her over. This kiss was to savor, to build her up, make her want more, want him. When his hips arched up, his cock hitting her just right through two layers of leather and denim, she groaned.

Her body responded of its own accord, hips grinding down, seeking the friction that had briefly been offered. She clawed at his shirt, wanting bare skin, needing it. Frustrated, she pulled back, breaking the kiss as she tore his shirt open. Definitely not scrawny. Thin but defined. All lean muscle and nothing to spare, almost like Spike had been. The shock of the comparison almost sobered her. It still hurt think back on that time, not for the bad, she had dealt with that, but for the good moments. The sex had been phenomenal and had frankly spoiled her. But what made her sad was knowing that things in general could have been better between them, maybe and—What was the point? And what in the hell was she doing thinking about that at a time like this?

But she couldn’t not think about the similarities between Ethan and Spike. It wasn’t purely physical. There was a likeness in personality and manner. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t stopping this. It felt familiar. And that familiarity felt kind of nice. Comforting almost.

Ethan’s hands slipped under her loose shirt, distracting her as they skated over her skin, moving up, and lifting the fabric.

“Arms up,” he directed, waiting for her to do as instructed.

Buffy obeyed automatically. There was no point in stopping now. The air sent goosebumps rippling over her naked skin.

“Exquisite,” he breathed as his right hand came up to palm one of her breasts. She arched into the touch, closing her eyes and letting her head drop back as his thumb massaged her nipple in tiny circles. This was wrong on so many levels, but she no longer cared.

“More,” she whispered.

She felt his tongue, hot and wet, caress over her free breast, teasing the nipple before latching on with blunt teeth. Mouth and hand worked in unison, overwhelming her with sensation, pleasure just touched with pain. Pain. She always craved that edge of pain, it made her feel alive. Even before she came back from heaven she craved it. And then Ethan was moving lower, kissing a trail between her breasts, down her stomach, moving them so he could press her back onto the couch as he descended.

The waistband on her jeans loosened as he popped the button and then drew down the zipper. Gripping the fabric, he began to work the material past her hips as he continued to place delicate kisses on the skin he exposed.

Buffy was beginning to find it very difficult to breathe. She was not letting Ethan go down on her. She was not enjoying Ethan Rayne going down on her. She was not—hell, she really didn’t care at the moment. Fingers teasing under the thin white cotton of her underwear made her gasp. Yup, definitely not caring much about the who at the moment.

Just when she finally decided to give herself over to this whole experience and stop letting the pesky thoughts get in the way of her good time, Buffy got the strange feeling that they were being watched. Turning her head to the side, she saw Giles standing in the archway, casually observing them, his face unreadable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

  
She kicked Ethan off of her and scrambled off the couch, managing, in spite of the vertigo that overwhelmed her again, to pull her pants up with her left hand while her right arm covered her breasts.

Giles smiled with what seemed to be a mixture of amusement and appreciation. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said unapologetically.

“Thanks a million, mate,” Ethan groused as he tossed his shirt at Giles. “Couldn’t have waited a few minutes, could you?”

He inspected the torn garment, then looked at Buffy. “Your handiwork, I presume?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked heatedly, scanning the room frantically, desperate to know where her shirt had disappeared to.

“My apartment. I think I have a right to go pretty much where I like.”

“The others can’t have finished yet,” Ethan interjected.

Giles shook his head, never taking his eyes off Buffy. “I just figured that if I waited long enough, what was happening out here would get far more interesting than anything going on in the back. Good to know I was right.”

Buffy wanted to be upset, angry. Outrage was the logical response. However, now that the initial shock had worn off, she didn’t feel that way at all. In fact, she was finding the whole thing very arousing. And the way he was looking at her . . .

“How does she taste?” Giles asked as he still leaned easily in the doorway.

“You didn’t let me get far enough, Ripper,” Ethan replied, petulant.

“It’s not like I dragged you off of her.”

“No, but you might as well have.” Ethan winced as he twisted. Buffy could make out a reddish mark from her foot on his left side.

Giles looked at both of them for a moment, then settled back on Ethan. “Go check on the others for me, would you, Ethan? You know how Randall gets if you don’t watch him.”

Ethan stood, but hesitated. “Not certain that I want to leave the two of you alone.”

The smile Giles flashed his friend was anything but pleasant. “Annie’s a big girl, she can handle herself.”

Buffy wanted to tell Ethan to stay, but she had a feeling it would be a sign of weakness in Giles’ eyes. That wasn’t something she wanted to risk. This was a battle for dominance.

The only trouble was she already wanted to submit

Ethan rose and headed for the hallway. As he passed Giles, he said, “Do go easy on her. You really don’t want to traumatize her this early in the game.”

And then he was gone, leaving Buffy alone and half-dressed with an unpredictable stranger. Instinct made her draw back, her right arm wrapping tighter across her chest.

“You’re not frightened of me, are you, Annie?” There was a predatory gleam in Giles’ eyes as he pushed off from the wall and leisurely crossed the room toward her.

This was way worse than the time with the band candy. At least then, she knew her Giles was still there, somewhere. Here, the Giles she knew didn’t exist yet.

He stopped, just out of arm’s reach. “I asked you a question.”

Straightening, she said with more confidence than she felt, “I’m not sure if you noticed, _Ripper_ , but I’m not one of your groupies. I’m not going to bow down to curry your favor.” She blocked his slap with her left hand, still managing to keep herself covered with her right. The situation was so absurd, she laughed. “So this is how you get obedience? You beat them into submission? I really expected more from you.”

“Did you now?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Before she could react, the hand she had blocked latched onto her left wrist and twisted it behind her back. His free hand tore her arm away from her breasts and wrenching it behind her as well. It left her incapacitated and trapped tightly against his chest, giving her no room to maneuver to fight back. Bastard.

“Didn’t your Watcher teach you anything, girl? You should really make certain your opponent can’t fight back before you start taunting him,” he sneered, pulling her tighter against him, his erection hard and undeniable between them.

“Oh god,” Buffy breathed, realizing too late how needy she sounded. Disgust. She should be feeling disgust. This was Giles! Albeit a twisted, younger, really gorgeous Giles, but still Giles! But somehow that logic didn’t make it from her brain to the rest of her body.

His teeth flashed as he looked down at her, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth, seductive. “Do you know what I’m going to do, Annie?”

She had a pretty good idea, but she shook her head.

Giles dipped his head down and whispered against her ear, “I am going to fuck you, Annie, and I won’t be gentle. I don’t do gentle. I fuck hard. I fuck rough. Understood?”

Buffy nodded. Her only thought was: Now.

“And you will scream for me,” he added. His mouth crushed hers without another moment’s delay, forcing her to open and submit, only allowing her to respond as he wanted her to. It was a far cry from Ethan’s casual wooing.

She wasn’t aware that they were moving until her back hit the wall.

Giles broke the kiss long enough to warn her, his tone slightly more polished, “You do not move until I say you can move. If you disobey me, I’ll make you regret it.”

Then he was kissing her again, hands releasing hers to slip beneath the waistband of her jeans, shoving them down as far as he could reach. While he told her not to move, Buffy took a chance and wiggled out of them the rest of the way, kicking them to the side. Her underwear remained in place.

He yanked her head back. “Did I say you could do that?” he growled.

“I really don’t like being told what to do,” she challenged him. She felt her blood pick up, adrenalin kicking in as instinct rebelled against the desire to submit. Her body wanted to give in, do whatever this man commanded, whatever it took to find release. And her mind, muddled though it was at the moment, was screaming at her to fight him off, show him who really had the power here.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, authority and me, we’re really not mi—Jesus!” she cried out as his hand delved between her legs, two fingers grinding against her clit.

Giles continued stroking her as he spoke. “The strength of generations of warriors flow through your veins, making you stronger than almost any demon and man you come across. Yet something so simple as this can bring you to your knees.”

“Still standing,” she managed, struggling not to let the sensations overwhelm her.

He nipped at her ear. “Because I don’t want you on your knees. Yet.”

She couldn’t help but whimper when he withdrew his hand and stepped back.

“Take those off,” he insisted, nodding to her panties. She didn’t move. “Unless you want to lose them altogether.”

For all she knew, the only clothes she owned here were the ones that had been on her back. And except for the rare occasion, she had never cared much to be commando Buffy. She slid them off without protest and stood, naked, waiting.

He didn’t speak, and instead started undressing. Leaning back against the wall, her breath coming shorter and shorter, Buffy watched in fascination as he removed his white t-shirt, arms crossing, muscles flexing, then lifting, exposing his chest, bare now except for a fine smattering of dark hair. The shirt landed forgotten behind him as dexterous fingers went to his jeans, undoing the fly, then pushing them off. He wore nothing underneath. Unconstrained, his cock rose flush and thick, pulsing, she imagined, in time with his heartbeat. The few odd occasions she had considered it, she had never pictured Giles to be this well-endowed. He wouldn’t set any records, but there was nothing to be ashamed of, either.

The reality of what they were doing penetrated her brain, making part of her scream out against it. But the drugs they had given her muffled the protest, leaving her curious and needy. Then she wasn’t thinking at all as he pushed her back against the wall, lifting her, guiding himself inside.

“Feels good,” she grunted as he stretched her, made her accommodate him. It shouldn’t feel this good to have her body subjected to the will of another. But it did.

“Told you.” He pinned her there, preventing her from moving as he fully sheathed himself. “Gonna get better.”

“I—” she stopped, her words cut off at he began to move inside her, cock sliding in and out of her channel with steady, deliberate, forceful strokes. There was no room to spare for thought, only sensation. His rhythm teased her arousal but didn’t further it. It was meant to drive her crazy, chip away at her resolve until she begged him for more. This was about him and the power he could have over her. At the moment, she didn’t care.

His thumb ran along her bottom lip, toying with it. It took every bit of restraint she had not to take his thumb into her mouth, tease him with what she could do.

She lifted her legs around him, letting him bear all their weight on his hips. Her mouth sought his out hungrily as she rocked against him in search of greater friction.

He just chuckled. “Want more, Annie?” he murmured against her collar.

“God, yeah,” she sighed in relief.

To her surprise, he stopped moving altogether. Raising his head, he met her eyes with a knowing smirk. “Beg me for it.”

Her pride rebelled. “Fuck you,” she spat.

“And from such an enticing mouth,” he tsked.

“Do you really blame her, Ripper?” Ethan interjected. Buffy looked over Giles’ shoulder to see the other man standing a few feet away, watching them with a bemused expression. It was strange that it almost felt natural for him to be there, watching them. And disconcerting though his interruption was, it didn’t embarrass her. “You’re tormenting the poor girl. I think she has the right to get pissy.”

Giles didn’t look away from Buffy when he spoke to Ethan. “I thought I told you to go keep an eye on the others.”

“Did do, but I got bored. So I’m back,” Ethan replied conversationally. Then to her, “He’s a bit of a wanker, but when he gets over himself, you’ll never find a better lay.”

She noticed an odd glow around Ethan, dark purple and black and red, growing more brilliant as the seconds passed. It was pulsing, too, like the bathroom light had. And it wasn’t just around him, but radiating from him. No, from wasn’t right. She squinted. It was radiating to him, almost as if he were drawing it from the surroundings.

“What’s so fascinating, Annie?” he asked her curiously.

Buffy blinked and it was gone. “Nothing,” she said honestly.

“Don’t talk to him,” Giles barked.

“Why not?” She bristled at his order. She was getting sick of being completely at his mercy just because she was out of her element here. And she really didn’t like that her first reaction to his words was the desire to obey. “Jealous?”

Her words were cut off as he silenced her, savaging her mouth with his own as he resumed his thrusts once more, pounding into her and driving all thought from her mind. This time there was no steadiness about it. His thrusts were quick, hard, and driven, almost as if he were making up for lost time. Which was more than fine by her, because finally there was enough friction to stimulate her, make her a purely sensual creature.

She dug her nails into his back, urging him on. His kiss and fucking became more frenzied. He was close to climax. She could feel him tensing, feel her own release building. But she needed more from him. She wanted more. If he would just—

He swallowed her scream when his thumb ground down against her clit, sending sparks across her vision. She dug her nails in harder into the soft skin of his back. Giles seemed to get the hint and did it again. And again.

It was like no orgasm she’d ever felt. The drugs, the situation, the partner all fed into shattering pleasure that sent her atoms scattering across the universe, leaving her uncertain if she’d ever be able to gather them all back together again.

As the blackness of the void consumed her, she heard a voice whisper through the stars, “Oh, sweet Annie, such great fun we’re going to have together. . .”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

  
Buffy woke up aching.

It wasn’t the dull fire that lingered after a night of slaying, a pain she’d become so accustomed to over the years that now she barely registered it. Instead, this was the warm throb of relaxed satisfaction, which was something she’d had little time in her life to experience, let alone take for granted.

She couldn’t remember much about last night, after the sinful decadence of getting fucked by . . . Giles. She could remember hands and lips, but there were also colors that couldn’t exist and music irreproducible by human voice. But she was tender in unspeakable places, and there was a lingering taste in her mouth that she didn’t want to examine too closely. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t been just sitting around enjoying their high.

The other clue that the evening’s activities had been less than innocent was the fact that she was naked in the warm bedding, spooned back against a warmer, very male body, one lean hand plucking at her breast as the other stroked lightly along the inside of her thigh, arousing her with gentle demand. For a moment she thought she must still be high, as his caresses seemed to be creating soft strains of guitar music that wafted through the room. His touch felt wonderful, stimulating and soothing at the same time, and the music lulled her further so that she didn’t want to question it. But finally she opened her eyes.

Giles sat in the windowsill, an acoustic guitar across his bare lap as his fingers wandered over the frets. Not Giles, she corrected herself. Giles wouldn’t exist for another twenty-five years. This young, dangerous, vibrant man barely older than she was could only be Ripper. She had to stop thinking of him as Giles. By calling him that, she was imbuing him with all her expectations of how Giles thought and acted, none of which held true now. If she didn’t want to go crazy, she just needed to stop thinking of him as anything but Ripper.

Warm lips coasting along her shoulder brought her attention back to the man holding her, his fingertips now gently prodding for entrance in her slick folds and making her gasp. There was no question it was Ethan, but that thought didn’t horrify her as much as it would have even the day before. Maybe it was because of the last lingering effects of the LSD. Maybe it was the skillful way he touched and aroused her. Or maybe it was because for the first time in the longest time, her partner was just a human being, whatever he might become later, warm and pulsing with life, without years or centuries of experience over her.

Despite the pleasure of his hands wandering over her, of his erection pressing against the firm curve of her behind, she had to see him, to wipe away the last lingering memory of the middle aged sorcerer he hadn’t yet become. She turned over in his arms and looked at him.

He looked angelic.

There was no other way to describe him. The waves of his dark hair fell tousled around his face, highlighting his smooth, pale skin and dark, sultry eyes. And he was smiling, a content, affectionate curl to his lips that melted something inside her. When she reached up to caress his cheek, the smile deepened. “Good morning.”

His stubble rasped faintly against her fingertips, but the side of his neck was downy and tender. “Taking advantage of my vulnerable state?” she murmured.

He laughed aloud and wrapped his arms tighter around Buffy to pull her closer. “This coming from the woman who waited until I was half pissed to skin me out of my pants and blow the hell out of me.”

Well, that explained the taste in her mouth. She blushed, which only made him chuckle again and nuzzle against her hair. “Knew if we scratched your surface,” he purred against her ear, “we’d find a little hellcat underneath.” His body was already undulating against hers in anticipation, making her skin tingle and her insides tighten eagerly. When he forced her head back to kiss her, she responded with equal passion.

All thoughts of morality, of what was, what had been and what would be faded under the erotic onslaught of Ethan’s firm lips and talented, curious fingers. Buffy lifted her leg to caress it along the taut muscle of his hip, but he resisted her invitation to focus his attention on her neck and breast until she was whimpering in desperation.

Unable to take any more, she shoved him onto his back and quickly straddled his hips. He blocked her as she moved to mount him, his fingers sliding through her wet folds as he licked his lips, his eyes never wavering from hers. She didn’t hold back her eager cry as she arched into his touch. When his thumb circled with almost loving brutality over her clit, she collapsed atop him, writhing in pleasure as she clung to him.

His lips pressed against her ear in a soft kiss before he murmured, “You’re stronger than me, Annie, but I have my own ways to control you.” He stroked her again, harder this time, making her cry out. “Give in to it, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

She’d played this game before, but unlike then, this time she had no need to struggle for dominance. Instead, she simply nodded, burying her face in his shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin as she kissed him in supplication.

She felt rather than saw his pleased smile, but was instantly aware when he took her hips and shifted her into better position. Lifting her weight onto her arms, she looked down into his eyes, almost seeing the chaos blooming in their dark depths as the plush head of his cock prodded insistently for entrance. Unwilling to wait any longer, Buffy flexed her thighs and slammed down onto him.

His response was immediate and nearly as satisfying as the incredible friction of his cock stretching her. Ethan ground his head back into the pillow, his eyes closed but his mouth open in a surprised, gratified smile, a hoarse chuckle ripped from his throat as his fingers dug into her hips, arching up to bury himself even deeper into her. “That’s my girl,” he encouraged her. “Don’t hold back, Annie. Don’t you hold anything back.”

Buffy’s head was buzzing almost more than it had last night under the effects of the drugs they’d given her. The combination of his cock slamming into her at an ever faster pace, his hands stroking and fondling her breasts and his words caressing her ears and working on her mind, all combined to lift her higher and higher. She could feel the sweat beading up on her skin, tickling down her spine as she rose and fell over him, never taking her eyes from his.

Slowly it began to penetrate her brain that the tickle between her shoulders wasn’t from perspiration, but was the all too familiar sensation of being watched. Never slowing, she turned her head to lock eyes with Ripper.

He took her breath away. She had forgotten he was even there. He still sat on the window ledge, late afternoon sunlight making his skin ruddy and his hair almost auburn. But he had put aside the guitar and now played with himself instead, his hand sliding in leisurely strokes up and down his shaft as he watched them fuck. His eyes challenged her, but rather than startling her off, she was disturbed to find that it only aroused her further. Closing her eyes, she turned back to Ethan, trying to narrow her focus back to all the sensations of him. But the more she fought it, the more she was aware of Ripper, watching them and getting off on it. And the more it excited her. She rose up, shifting the angle of Ethan within her while giving Ripper a better view, posting hard on Ethan as he cupped her small breasts in his hands, his endless stream of words gone guttural as his own orgasm approached. She didn’t look over at Ripper, but could hear his hoarse breathing over the slap of their sweat-sheened skin. And then Ethan’s long fingers slipped between them to rasp over her clit and she forgot everything in the ecstasy of orgasm.

Buffy and Ethan lay entwined as they fought for breath afterwards. It was satisfying to feel his lungs bellowing against his ribs, his heart pounding as he held her close against him, stroking her hair and placing curious kisses on her crown and neck as though trying to decide whether to go again. But finally with a sigh of frustration he rolled her off him gently and slid away. “I need a shower. Got to make a couple of stops before Ripper’s show tonight, make sure nobody’s found you.” He leaned forward and kissed her one last time, using generous amounts of tongue. “Be right back.”

He stood up, unconcerned with his nudity, stretched and scratched at his hair, then disappeared down the hall to the bathroom, leaving her alone. With Ripper.

Still uncomfortable with her reaction to him and genuinely uncertain of what he might do without Ethan there to prevent it, she slid to the far side of the bed, grabbing the first shirt at hand off the floor and slipping into it. It was wrinkled and large, with a scent only vaguely reminiscent of Ethan, but it covered her, if she didn’t think about it too much. Thus armored, she felt safe looking back at him.

He hadn’t moved, still reclined against the window frame, one knee bent and the other draped over the edge, exposing his dusky erection and the heavy hang of his balls to her gaze without shame. She fought the urge to lick her lips. “I’m going to get some coffee,” she said instead, cursing the way her voice cracked. “You want some?”

He just smirked, his hazel eyes knowing as he slowly shook his head. “No, not coffee.”

“Okay, then.” Her heart was pounding again. Making her feel surprisingly like a cornered mouse. She could break him in half if she wanted to, but there was something about him, an aura of domination that made her feel . . . almost like a normal girl. “I’ll just . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t move as she backed out of the room, simply watched her with narrow, hungry eyes. It wasn’t until she was finally out of the room and had escaped the intensity of that gaze that she could finally turn and hurry down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

  
The kitchenette was a bachelor pad nightmare of empty bottles of spirits and beer, dirty dishes, and trash littering the floor. Buffy found the old fashioned percolator underneath a filthy dishtowel. Trying to figure out how to put it all together and fill it kept her from thinking too much about the crazy situation she found herself in. But once it was plugged in and warming, there was nothing to do but think.

She went over and over the fight in Giles’ study in her head and came to the inescapable conclusion that it had to be the necklace. The string of antique glass beads she had been running through her fingers the entire time she’d been in his office. It was the only thing she could think of that was in any way unusual. It must have had some kind of magical properties Giles didn’t know about. Or maybe he had. He had tried to stop her when she’d made that stupid wish. Maybe he had known what could happen but had been too late to stop her. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she tugged the hem of the frayed t-shirt down over them and sighed. After all those years around Anya, one would think she would have learned.

The thought of Anya gave her a flare of hope. Maybe if Buffy found her in this time, she could convince the vengeance demon to give her a ride home. Finding her would be the trick. Fortunately for Buffy, she had a boyfriend who was a kickass sorcerer.

And how bizarre was that, that Ethan Rayne was her boyfriend? The universe had a really warped sense of humor. And she wasn’t sure which surprised her more, that she was his girlfriend or that he seemed to be genuinely affectionate, in kind of a weird, selfish sort of way. What really disturbed her was how much he reminded her of Spike. And not just physically. Ethan seemed to have the same kind of brutal chivalry that had always been Spike’s hallmark. He seemed to see nothing wrong with putting her in situations that challenged her, even endangered her, but then stayed right there to protect her if it became too much. It was so reminiscent of Spike, it brought tears to her eyes. And maybe that was the real reason she was so comfortable with Ethan. To a part of her brain, this had to seem like a chance to finally make amends and find some kind of closure. She was just grateful Ethan was warm blooded and breathing as a reminder that he wasn’t her lost lover come back to her. Still, she trusted him, this less cynical, less vicious version of the man he would become.

Ripper, on the other hand, she didn’t trust at all. He was too dangerous, too careless, almost like he owned the whole world and looked down his nose at everything in it. And maybe he was right to. She could feel that power in him that made her want to drop her head submissively whenever he was around. She’d been with enough guys in her life, but he was the first one she could really describe as alpha. Just by walking into a room, he dominated everyone in it, and everyone seemed eager to submit. The best word to describe him would be virile, which was so not a word she had ever considered in association with Giles. If this was how he’d been under the effects of the enchanted band candy, it was no wonder her mother had gone back for seconds. And there was another layer of freaky. Now she and her mom had shared a lover. How Freudian was that?

Sharing. She rubbed her eyes, as though that would clear her thoughts. She had slept with two different guys in the space of eighteen hours. At least she hoped it was only two. Part of her wished she could remember better what had happened last night, while another part was really glad she couldn’t. What if she had slept with every guy there last night? It was bad enough she had slept with Ripper. She was Ethan’s girlfriend. But he’d stood there and watched them, never protesting, never interfering. And this morning (or afternoon, as the case proved) when it had been his turn, assuming he hadn’t had another go at her last night, he hadn’t thrown her behavior up to her. It was like he didn’t care who she fucked, as long as she came back to him. It just didn’t make sense to her.

And it wasn’t going to make sense, not while her brain was still fogged with the remnants of drugs, sleep and sex. The coffee smelled done, so she poured some out into a chipped old fashioned teacup that looked like something out of Beauty and the Beast but more likely than not had been lifted from somebody’s grandmother. There was a bottle of milk in the antique-looking fridge that she sniffed carefully before adding to the cup. She savored the first mouthful, then went back to the fridge in search of something to eat.

When the front door to the apartment opened, she looked up in surprise to see Deidre coming in like she owned the place. She looked equally surprised to see Buffy. “What the hell are you doing here?” she spat viciously.

Grace under fire was something Buffy had never had a problem with, which was a good thing as she realized how little her shirt actually covered her. “Making breakfast,” she said coolly, taking out a box of eggs.

Her eyes narrowed. “Does Ethan know you’re here?”

“He’s in the shower.” She studied the girl, trying to get a bead on her. Mouse brown hair, uneven teeth and a pinched expression made her less than attractive. What was it Ethan had said last night, about how they’d have thrown her over if it weren’t for the others? No wonder she was so insecure. “Why, did you think I was sneaking around on him?”

Deidre snorted. “Hardly. Darling, the two of them go through a dozen girls a week. You’ll be gone soon enough.”

The thought of another girl in her place made Buffy suddenly uneasy. But she wasn’t a teenager anymore that this kind of intimidation could break her spirit. “Well, when they do, at least I’ll have the comfort of knowing you won’t be taking my place.” She put the eggs on the counter next to the bottle of milk before facing Deidre again, certain her expression betrayed nothing. “Ethan told me last night that they’d have thrown you over a long time ago if the others didn’t find you so, what’s the word? Oh, yeah. Easy.”

Deidre’s eyes narrowed in anger as her hands clutched at the small paper grocery sack she held. “Well, Ethan’s not the one who’s in charge, is he? Just because he lets Ripper ball his girlfriends doesn’t make him any better than the rest of us. And it doesn’t make you anything.”

Buffy’s own anger rose at the acid in Deidre’s voice. “I guess women’s lib hasn’t made much of an impact over here, has it?” she responded with equal venom. “Or maybe it’s just you that’s a complete doormat. I’m not some toy to be passed around, and nobody lets anyone to anything to me that I don’t want. I fuck who I want, when I want, and I don’t need Ethan’s or anyone else’s permission to do it. And since I don’t put out to every guy that comes along,” she gave Deidre a scathing look, “maybe the one I have might hang onto me longer than you think. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I seem to have lost my appetite.”

She had almost made it to the hall when Deidre stopped her. “Annie.” When Buffy turned, Deidre threw the paper bag at her. “Tell your boyfriend,” she sneered on the word, “I’m not his pack mule. If he wants stuff from the shops, that’s what he’s got you for now. If you’re not too busy being all liberated.” With that she turned away dismissively to pour herself a cup of coffee.

There was no point in arguing with her. It would only make Buffy look bad and wouldn’t accomplish anything, anyway. Tightening her hold on the paper bag, she started down the hallway towards the bathroom.

The sight that met her took her breath away.

Ripper and Ethan stood in the cramped hallway, their pants shoved down over their thighs as their bare chests pressed intimately into each other, their arms entangled as they made out against the wall. Their mouths slanted almost cruelly back and forth over each other with each kiss. Ripper had his hands knotted in Ethan’s still damp hair while Ethan was more casually draped around Ripper, fingers of one hand splayed against Ripper’s scalp, the other resting easily on the firm curve of his ass. With every movement Buffy could see the muscles in their legs and asses flex, the hard blades of their cocks stroking against each other to draw soft moans and grunts that were instantly swallowed by the next kiss.

They were gorgeous together.

Buffy was trapped. She couldn’t get past them to the bedroom and bathroom through the tight confines of the hallway, and she couldn’t go back because then she’d have to answer to Deidre on why she’d come back so quickly. But they seemed too engrossed to notice her, so she just stayed very still and tried not to be transfixed by the arousing sight in front of her.

She was surprised to realize Ethan was the taller of the two of them. She had always thought Giles was taller, but with them together like this, she could see Ethan had a good two inches on Ripper that his lean build disguised, forcing him to bend his head ever so slightly to Ripper’s hungry mouth.

Ripper let one hand slide roughly down Ethan’s back to grip his ass fiercely as he sped up the rocking of their hips. Finally he jerked his head away from that devouring kiss. “Turn around,” he commanded quietly but undeniably.

Ethan’s sultry eyes fluttered open, bright with lust, a smug grin curling his lips. “Since you asked so nice,” he purred sardonically, but he did as he was asked, his own eagerness evident as he arched his back in invitation.

Buffy was certain she would be caught, but Ethan’s eyes closed without registering her presence, and Ripper was too focused on what he was doing to notice or care. He shoved Ethan’s jeans down further out of his way before spitting into his hand and slicking it over his dusky cock. He gripped Ethan’s hip with one hand while the other guided his shaft into position.

Ethan’s soft grunt told her when Ripper was in place. He let go of himself to grip Ethan’s other hip and with dark deliberation slowly pulled Ethan back onto his length.

Ethan let out a broken sigh as his head fell forward to rest on the wall. It was his efforts that just as slowly pulled away from Ripper and then pressed back again. Ripper grinned ferally.

Buffy had to grind her teeth to keep from gasping in wonder as they started an obviously familiar dance. She knew she should look away, give them at least that much privacy, but she was too entranced. “Christ, you’re so tight,” Ripper said, his eyes still locked where their bodies came together. “How are you always so tight, with all the times I’ve buggered you?”

Ethan turned his head but didn’t open his eyes. “I eat a lot of fiber.”

Ripper chuckled. “Not a lot of fiber in a Black and Tan, mate.” He allowed his hand to caress the swell of Ethan’s ass. Buffy held her breath, anticipating the slap that was to come. But it didn’t.

“Harder,” Ethan demanded.

Ripper just chuckled.

That seemed to piss Ethan off. “I said harder! You fuck like a pussy.”

Ripper’s face darkened. “Maybe that’s what you’d rather have, then. Is that it? Would you rather be shagging your pretty new bitch?”

Ethan barked a laugh, obviously satisfied with the reaction he’d gotten. “I’d rather be fucking both of you and you know it.” He paused. “And so would you.”

Ripper leaned forward to press his chest along Ethan’s back, one arm curling around to allow him to caress Ethan’s torso. “You’d like that, would you? If Annie was here between you and that wall, her pussy wrapped around your cock right now instead of my hand?” He punctuated his words by wrapping his hand around Ethan’s shaft and twisting.

Buffy’s uncontrollable moan of arousal was lost under Ethan’s. “Christ, Ripper.”

But Ripper didn’t stop, his hips slapping against Ethan’s ass, his hand jerking Ethan’s cock in long strokes. He leaned closer to speak in Ethan’s ear, but loud enough Buffy could hear him clearly. “She’s here, you know. Standing there watching us. Why don’t we ask her?”

Ethan’s head snapped up, his eyes opening for the first time to see her there. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a surprised wail as he came. Ripper just chuckled and slammed into him hard for half a dozen strokes before he jerked with a soft curse and came as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

  
Ripper pulled away slowly, causing both of them to groan as he withdrew, and leaned back against the far wall. Ethan turned around and mirrored him, their heavy breathing matched as they recovered themselves. Neither of them seemed embarrassed by their nudity in her presence, eyes focused solely on each other, and for a moment Buffy thought they had forgotten her presence again. But then Ethan turned his head to face her. “Everything alright, love?”

“Deidre’s here,” she answered abruptly, not trusting herself to say more.

That got them both moving. “What the bloody hell is she doing here?” Ripper swore as he stuffed himself back in his trousers and zipped them up roughly. “I thought the cow was meeting us at the club.”

Ethan closed his pants with more finesse. “I suspect she’s feeling a bit threatened.” He threw a wicked grin at Buffy. “Good thing she’s not my problem.”

“I’m making her your problem. Get rid of her. I have to shower and get ready.”

Buffy cut off Ethan’s protest. “Oh no, you don’t!” Shoving the bag into Ethan’s surprised hands, she stepped between the two of them to block the bathroom door. “I’ve already had to face off with her, I get the shower first!”

Ripper glowered at her. “And if I say no? What are you going to do about it?”

“Simple.” She raised her voice. “Deidre, could you come here for a minute? Ripper wants a word.”

Ripper’s growl overpowered Ethan’s laughter. “Why, you little bitch,” Ripper stepped towards her threateningly.

“You know, if you keep calling me that, I might start to act like one.” And with that, she closed the door in his surprised face.

Grateful for the relative privacy, at least for a few minutes, she turned on the taps in the tub before looking around. The bathroom wasn’t much better than the kitchen, but she did manage to find a clean towel. There were a couple kinds of shampoo to choose from, but only one bar of soap, still damp from Ethan’s shower. She tried not to think about the intimacy of that as the hot water beat down on her. The electric shock of her knuckle accidentally nudging against her outer lips when she washed between her legs was harder to ignore. What did it say about her that she got turned on watching two men fucking? She really wasn’t ready to examine that too closely.

Wonder of wonders, there was a hair dryer. It was enormous and only had one setting, on, but it was enough to spare her the shapeless rag of her hair if it air dried. She toweled off before wrapping the towel around herself and set to work on her hair. Then she brushed her teeth, using the one damp brush just to be safe, used the facilities and then, after first peeking out into the hallway to be sure the coast was clear, headed into the bedroom to get dressed.

Her own clothes were nowhere to be found. They were probably still out in the living room, which meant that whatever else had happened last night, she spent at least some part of it naked in front of everyone. She sighed. She was going to have to ask someone just what _had_ happened. It was too difficult and unnerving not knowing. Pulling out the dresser drawers, she searched quickly for something decent. In the bottom she actually found some women’s clothes, a silky spindle skirt and a couple of frilly tops. She slipped on the skirt, but bypassed the blouses for a loose white poet shirt in a soft linen. She found a couple of bras, none of which fit her, but to her surprise no underpants. It was too easy to picture them keeping a collection as trophies of all their conquests, although she had the feeling Ripper’s would be bigger than Ethan’s. A pair of black men’s dress socks finished the look.

The mirror over the dresser reflected back a reasonable facsimile of a seventies waif. Her hair was still stick straight, and, devoid of makeup, her skin looked even paler than normal. Spotting an eyeliner pencil on the dresser top, she recalled the look she had sported the evening before and decided to emulate it, picking up the pencil to trace the dark outlines of her eyes.

The door opened and Ripper came in, fresh from his own shower. He had a grubby white towel tucked around his waist and his skin glowed with a damp sheen. His hair had been towel dried and he hadn’t bothered to comb it, leaving it strewn about in tousled waves that invited her to run her fingers through it.

Buffy’s heart started pounding, but she didn’t turn around to face him. Instead she focused on finishing her makeup, trying not to jab herself in the eye with her trembling hand, all the while stealing glances at him in the mirror.

He dropped his dirty clothes in a pile in the corner before opening the closet to pull out a pair of leather pants and a vest and laying them out on the bed. He looked over towards the dresser, and she saw his eyes narrow as he studied her. As though he knew she was watching him, he deliberately removed his towel, dropping it on the pile with the dirty clothes before circling the bed to approach her.

He was hard again.

He stopped barely a foot behind her, watching her in the mirror as she tried to finish the job on her eyes. Finally he said, “You still wet?”

Buffy fought to ignore the innuendo in his voice. “If I were wet, I wouldn’t have gotten dressed now, would I?”

“Not the kind of wet I meant.” Ripper’s eyes studied hers in the mirror as he moved closer, but all she could focus on was his hand coming to rest lightly on her waist, his fingers drifting in blatant suggestion over the front of her hip. “I saw you watching us in the hall,” he went on, his voice lowered to a more seductive range. “You were breathing almost as hard as we were, and your pretty face was all flushed.” His other hand pushed aside her shirt to slide underneath, caressing her stomach before coasting up to cup her breast. “And your mouth was so red and open, like the only thing in the world you wanted to do in that moment was drop to your knees and start sucking him off.”

She was quickly getting lost in his words and his touch, but she wasn’t willing to let him know that. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted as forcefully as she could manage.

“Oh no?” And faster than she would have believed, he snatched up the hem of her skirt and slid his hand over her thigh to trace through her swollen folds.

She couldn’t hold back the cry of pleasure as her hands slapped down on the dresser top to support her when he stroked back and forth, the rough guitar string calluses on his fingertips slick with her arousal as they stroked up over her clit.

“Tsk, tsk.” Ripper leaned closer, still fondling her breast as he fingered her. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to fib?” She could feel his hot breath against her hair and the prominence of his erection pressing into the flesh of her backside. “So wet. A man could drown in you.”

“Stop,” she begged, not caring how urgent she sounded.

“Don’t want to.” The hand toying with her breast pulled away to course up the back of her neck, catching her hair up between his splayed fingers. He closed his fist and used the grip to tip her head to the side, allowing him clear access to caress his lips up the sensitive vein along her throat, coming to rest at her earlobe. “And the truth is, you don’t want me to, either.”

She whimpered in desperate pleasure as he pressed two broad fingers up into her channel. She wanted to deny him, but her body betrayed her with a fresh rush of fluid as it readied itself for him.

He nuzzled against her hair as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of her. “Wanna fuck you, Annie. Wanna feel those tight Slayer muscles squeeze around me, wanna hear you scream my name when you come.”

She had to make him stop, although his thumb resting on her clit made it impossible to think straight. “What about Ethan?”

“Ethan can fuck you later.” He withdrew his fingers and caught up her skirt, using his grip on her hair to bend her down over the dresser as he pushed the fabric up over her back. “Such a pretty ass you have. All round and inviting . . .”

Buffy couldn’t hold her head up as his coarse hand caressed over the sensitive skin of her exposed backside. “Please,” she begged again, hoarse with need, “we have to stop.”

The heavy weight of his cock rested against her ass, sliding back and forth in anticipation. He tugged her hair up until she met his gaze in the mirror. “You could make it stop if you really wanted to. You’re a Slayer, Annie. Make me.”

It was a challenge. And Buffy knew if she didn’t rise to it, it would give him power over her. But in that moment she didn’t give a damn about power. She just needed to feel him.

With a lost moan, she circled her hips back against him.

His grin was predatory as he shifted his position, his cock sliding through the wet track of her folds. He bent his knees and rose up, and suddenly he was buried inside her.

This time her cry was copied by his own hoarse groan of pleasure. He was just as eager for more as she was, pulling back quickly to slam in again. “Ah, yeah,” he murmured, quickly setting a pounding pace. “So wet and eager. Knew you’d feel good.”

She stopped resisting, pushing back to meet him with equal force, lost in the feel of him filling her over and over, the heavy slap of his balls against her already sensitive clit.

Last night, what she remembered of it, had been good. This was better. There were no crossed wires, no confused sensations to interfere with the pure, primal pleasure he brought with each thrust. “God, Ripper!” she moaned as her orgasm tightened inside her.

He jerked her head up higher, making her scalp tingle. “Say it again,” he growled, fucking harder.

She surrendered. “Ripper!”

“Such a good girl.” His free hand moved under her to rasp over her throbbing clit again. “Now come for me, Annie.”

She exploded. His name echoed back at her off the mirror as she cried out, bucking fiercely beneath him.

“Oh god, yeah.” He let go of her hair to grip her hips in both hands, never slowing his thrusts as she came around him. “So tight, so strong, god, Annie!” He came as hard and fast as he’d fucked her, the jolts setting off aftershocks to her own release that left her limp and sated.

He recovered quicker than she did. Straightening up, he coasted his hand over her hair almost affectionately before drawing her upright and allowing her skirt to fall back into place. There was a soft tap at the door. “Annie?” Ethan asked from the other side. “You about ready? We have to get going if we don’t want to be late.”

Buffy looked in the mirror. Her skin was flushed and her previously straight hair now a tousled mess. She could see Ripper watching her, his face expressionless. “Yeah, I’m coming,” she called, doing the best she could to finger comb her hair back into place.

Ripper snorted, making her regret her choice of words.

She was starting to regret a lot of things.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

Ethan’s car was a beat up old red and white Mini Cooper that in thirty years would be all the rage again, but right now looked as though it had seen better days. Buffy thought she probably should be grateful to get out of that apartment and see that the world outside did still exist, that someone wasn’t playing an elaborate hoax on her. Instead she hunched down in her seat and tried to slow the confusing chaos of thoughts that raced around in her brain.

They stopped at Ethan’s apartment to pick up “her” things, then continued on to make three stops, at a book shop, an occult store and an antiques warehouse Buffy suspected housed something darker. “Stay here,” he told her every time, “and keep your head down.” Then he’d be gone for ten or fifteen minutes, only to come out again looking satisfied. “Well, my girl,” he said, getting back in the car after the third time, “it looks like you’ve done it.” Starting the car, he peeled away from the curb to barrel heedlessly into traffic.

She clutched at the door strap for balance. “Done what?”

He gave her a fierce grin before wrenching the car into a roundabout. When they shot out the other side, going faster than Buffy would have given the old car credit for, he reclined back in his seat, his arm draped over the wheel as he weaved through the traffic. “Those people I’ve been talking to,” he finally answered, glancing over at her, “in addition to being contacts of mine, also happen to be in touch with certain tweed clad gentlemen of your acquaintance. And none of them have heard boo about a runaway Slayer. So you did it.” He downshifted and peeled around a truck. “Most likely they’re lookin’ for you back in the States, figuring you’d head for home. And meanwhile you’re hiding right under their upturned noses.”

She could tell he was waiting for an answer. “Well, that’s good to know.”

He seemed disappointed. “Thought you’d be happier.”

“I am, really.” She rested a hand on his thigh apologetically. “Thank you.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “You’re welcome.”

They drove in silence for a while as Ethan slalomed through traffic and on and off roads like he was being filmed for _World’s Most Dangerous Car Chases_ or something. Buffy was grateful. Being scared for her life kept her from thinking about the insanity of it.

Finally he turned off into a fairly suburban neighborhood and slowed down. “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t want to distract you. You’re a crazy driver, you know that?”

He chuckled, his eyes focused on the road. She thought he was going to let it slide, but a few blocks later he asked, “Is it because of what you saw earlier?”

“What I . . .” It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the scene in the hallway. “No!” she protested, loud enough that she had to stop and think about it. Did it bother her? It’s not like they hadn’t talked about it, she and Willow and Xander, back when it wasn’t deadly serious. Did it bother her? Not really. “No, it’s fine. I always kind of expected something like that.” What she hadn’t expected was her own reaction to it. Even now, thinking about it gave her a thrill.

“Always?” He snickered. “You sound like you’ve known us your whole life.”

Buffy turned to look out the window. “Feels like it sometimes,” she said under her breath.

“So, if it wasn’t that,” he pressed, “what’s got you all bothered? Did Ripper do something you didn’t want?”

Her answer was more hesitant this time. “No.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He pulled into a crowded car park and killed the engine, then turned in the seat to face her. “I love shy virgin twenty questions.” His eyes were glinting playfully in the street lights. “Let me think. Did Ripper do something you _did_ want?”

This time her face flushed with shame. “Ethan, I . . . it wasn’t . . .”

When he started chuckling, she wanted to hit him. “Tell me something, Annie, is all this shit about equality and women’s lib a myth? Or are you really the only repressed American girl left?”

Buffy slapped him. Or she tried to. In the confines of the small car, she couldn’t wind up enough to put her whole strength behind it. Prepared, he caught her hand and closed his fingers around it to draw it up to his mouth, tracing his lips over her knuckles as he smirked at her. “Did you think I didn’t know what you two were doing in there? You aren’t very quiet, Annie, even sober. You enjoyed it, pet, no point in denying it. So why the guilt?”

She sagged beneath his words. He was being so understanding, it just made her feel worse. “I’m supposed to be your girl, aren’t I? So I shouldn’t really be going around enjoying _anything_ with someone not you. It just isn’t right.”

Ethan snickered. “My, you really are old fashioned, aren’t you? I don’t own you, girl. We’ve got us a business arrangement, remember? I watch your back, you watch mine? The perk of access to your luscious flesh occasionally was not in the initial negotiations. You can screw who you want, Annie, Just keep me in the rotation somewhere, yeah?”

She just stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was telling her. It was such an alien concept to her, it was difficult to make sense of. Was he actually giving her permission to sleep around on him? And with his best friend, no less? His own lover? “You people are going to make me crazy, you know that?”

He grinned, using his grip on her hand to draw her across the bench seat closer to him. “Enjoy the ride,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers. “You might learn a thing or two.”

Then he was kissing her, his mouth mobile and intense as he moved over hers, his hand coming up to cup her head. She resisted him only a moment before surrendering, this time the first one to seek out with her tongue in hungry exploration. He chuckled, making her chest vibrate, and dropped his other hand onto her far hip to slowly draw her closer. Her heart beat rapid-fire as she felt the fabric of her skirt start to slide up her leg, but he gently broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. “Tempting as it is to spend the next hour or so shagging you here in the front seat of this car, we’re going to be late, and we still have to walk a few blocks.”

She relaxed and smiled. “You aren’t afraid of Ripper, are you?”

“Girl, there are some things even I won’t risk. He holds a grudge for weeks, and he’s pissy as hell when he’s crossed. I only have so many blow jobs in me to appease him.” He kissed her again quickly before reaching for the door handle. “Ready?”

“Ethan.” She stopped him by putting her hand on his arm. “Last night . . . there are some gaps. In my memory. Could you tell me what . . .” there was just no graceful way to ask this, “or who I did last night?”

He looked at her incredulously. “You really don’t remember?”

“If I remembered,” she snapped, mortified, “do you really think I would be asking?”

“So,” the glint in his eye turned speculative, “if I told you you balled the lot of us and then spent an hour double dipping with Deidre while the rest of us got off on it, you’d have no way of knowing otherwise?”

Embarrassment turned to horror. “Oh god,” she pleaded in a small voice, “please tell me I didn’t.”

He lasted all of ten seconds before he broke out laughing and shook his head. “No, but the look on your face was brilliant!”

This time she did hit him, backhanding him on the shoulder. In retaliation, or possibly defense, he caught her and pulled her into his arms. “It was just us. Me and Ripper,” he confessed. “You and I had a lovely snog before Ripper balled you up against the wall. Then you gave me a fantastic blow, Ripper spent twenty minutes eating you out, we both fucked you a couple of times and then you passed out. It was a memorable evening, for some of us, at least.”

His description was so bald and matter of fact, she should have been horrified. Instead it just made her shiver. “Both?” She asked uncertainly. “At once?”

He reached out to toy with a lock of her hair. “It was amazing, pet. You wailed like a banshee, couldn’t get enough.” He looked down, his eyes gone dark. “Wouldn’t have thought your ass could feel as good as your quim, but it did.”

Eyes wide, she licked her lips.

He leaned forward, letting her feel his quick breath against her lips. Before he closed the kiss, he recovered himself. “Dammit, Annie, now we really are going to be late!” Reaching past her, he opened her door and shoved it open, then backed off and slid out his own door.

Still feeling weak from the intensity of their conversation, she climbed out as well and shut the door behind her. Ethan was there in an instant to sling his arm around her shoulder and guide her out into the high street. He pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, “We’ll continue this discussion later, yeah?”

Buffy was getting lost in this fantasy. It felt too good to resist. She relaxed under his arm, their steps falling in sync as they walked, perfectly matched like it was the most normal thing in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

The street was crowded with pedestrians, all of them animated, many of them drunk, most of them Buffy’s age or younger. “Where are we?” she asked, taking it all in.

“Cambridge.” Ethan guided her across the street. “Ripper likes to disdain the university crowd. Plus it pays better.”

As they picked their way through the crowds, Buffy was surprised to find Ethan slowly losing his usual grace, stumbling and bumping into people as they made their way by. It wasn’t until the fourth time it happened that she noticed the brown leather in his hand. She grabbed his wrist and turned his hand over, revealing the wallet he held.

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Rent’s due on Monday.”

With a glare, she snatched it out of his hand and turned to chase down the guy he had lifted it from. “Excuse me, I think you dropped this.”

She couldn’t see his face very well in the shadows, but she could smell the alcohol on his breath. He had to be only a beer or two away from unconscious as he studied her in bleary confusion. Then his face cracked in a big, toothy smile. “Well, ain’t you the pretty one?”

“And also enormously aggravating,” Ethan said, coming up behind her. “The lady’s with me.”

The man looked too drunk to comprehend, so Buffy just shoved the wallet into his hands. “Be more careful next time.”

Ethan drew her away before the man could gather enough wits to question how she’d gotten his wallet. Slinging his arm around her shoulder almost as though to strangle her, Ethan murmured against her ear, “You’ve got some inconvenient morals, you know that?”

“That’s me, aggravating and inconvenient.” On a whim, she put her arm around him to slip her hand into his back pocket, letting her feel the flex of his buttocks as they walked. “Now don’t let me see you stealing from anyone else.”

He chuckled and pulled her closer. “Don’t worry, you won’t see a thing.”

She knew what that meant, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

A few blocks further on he turned her down a narrow alley that went back the length of the building before opening up into a cul-de-sac backing all the buildings around. The place reeked of garbage cans and standing water, booze and cigarette smoke, but even so there were a few dozen people milling about, talking. One of the basement doors was open, light and sound escaping from it out into the night. Ethan led her down the steps and into the basement below.

Calling it a basement was a bit of a misnomer. It was more like a man-made stone cavern, low and heavy with carefully placed piles of rock supporting the ceiling almost randomly, arched niches around the sides which once must have housed barrels of wine and other stores for the building above. Now they were private booths, separate from the sea of small tables that filled the floor leading up to the stage. It reminded Buffy of the Bronze without any dance floor.

The place was mobbed. Ethan had to push and shove to make it through the crowd, keeping her close so as not to lose her. Finally they made it near the stage where Buffy saw Deidre and the others holding a table.

“’Bout time you got here,” Deidre snapped, glaring at Buffy. “They’re just about to announce him.”

“I’m sure he’d have managed to get on without me alright.” Ethan yanked the chair out from under her, barely giving her time to keep from falling on the floor. “Thanks for the chair, love.” He sat down and pulled Buffy onto his lap. “Annie, you remember everybody from last night. Phillip, Thomas, Randall, and of course Deidre.” He gestured to each in turn, and she had the feeling he was doing it because he knew she probably _didn’t_ remember.

Buffy committed their faces to memory this time, studying each briefly. The round faced, lean young man who had been worshipping Deidre last night now drew her back onto his lap, giving her a place to sit since Ethan had confiscated her chair. Buffy had a sudden flash of insight as she realized that this man was destined to die on the floor of the Sunnydale High School library twenty-five years hence. With the exception of Ethan and herself, all of them were doomed, some sooner than others. Her eyes drifted to Randall. He seemed so much younger than the rest, still eager and naïve about things, with a puppy-like earnestness to him. He kind of reminded her of Jonathan Levinson, except he was built differently, lanky and awkward with mousy brown hair straggling in his face. He didn’t have much longer at all. She wondered how much longer it was before they started playing with the Eyghon summoning. Or had they started already? Was that the ritual they had been doing last night? The sudden sense of impending doom made her tremble.

Ethan misinterpreted and gave her a squeeze, his arm curled around her waist to hold her on his lap. “Don’t let the cow get to you. Nobody takes her seriously, not even Phillip, and he’s totally besotted with her.”

Buffy smiled weakly and opened her mouth to reassure him when the MC came out to the mic. She could barely make out what he was saying through his thick accent and the screechy feedback from the sound system. He spoke quickly and with great emphasis until the crowd went wild as Ripper and four other guys came out on stage. From the makeup of them, Buffy couldn’t tell exactly what kind of band they were. Three of them had guitars, including Ripper, and of course there was a drummer, but the fifth guy carried a beat up old violin. They all shouted and made rude gestures out at the crowd except for Ripper, who appeared totally engrossed in what he was about to do. She could almost feel the tightly focused energy coming off him in waves as he set his guitar down and waited for the others to take their places. As the drummer slipped behind his kit and nodded, Ripper began bouncing on the balls of his feet as though setting the rhythm. The violin came in first with a piercing shower of notes before the kick drum sounded out as the drummer joined in with a feverish crash of skin and cymbals. When the guitars joined in, Ripper grabbed the microphone, and suddenly Buffy’s heart was beating at the frenzied pace of their music.

She had heard Giles sing before. They all had, those awful few days with the musical demon not withstanding. He had a rich, cultured baritone that, like him, was comforting and relaxing.

This was different.

Ripper pushed his voice up the register into a blaring tenor as he fairly howled into the microphone. Were he any less skilled, it would have come off as mere shouting, but he gave it a musicality no one else could have managed.

She stared at him, entranced. The intensity of his performance was supplemented by the fact that he held both the microphone and the stand, one in each hand as he moved frenetically with it. She didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but from where she sat, it looked like he was humping the stand. She couldn’t help but imagine that this was what he had looked like last night when he had her backed up against the wall.

She remained enthralled until well into the next song before Ethan’s lips brushed against her ear, breaking the spell. “You’re getting turned on by this.”

Blood rushed to her face as Buffy realized he was right. That didn’t keep her from protesting, “No, I’m not.”

Before she could stop him, he had his hand up under her skirt to trace his fingers through her swollen folds, releasing the moisture dammed there to dampen her thighs. “You’re a dirty liar,” he murmured over her breathless gasp.

“Yeah, well,” she slipped her hand alongside her hip and outlined his solid erection, “I’m not the only one.”

Ethan’s eyes darkened. “You’re absolutely right,” he said, his voice thick and sultry. “Let’s do something about that, shall we?”

With deft hands, he shifted her so that she now straddled his lap, twitching her skirt free so that it covered them. The hard bulge of his cock through the rough denim of his jeans chafed her bare skin, made her want to writhe against him for more. But he held her still, pulling her down to catch her mouth in a searing kiss. It wasn’t until she felt his hand between them opening his fly under her skirt that she tried to pull away. “Ethan, no . . .”

“Shh,” he whispered, not letting her move. “We aren’t the only couple snogging, pet. We do this right and nobody’s going to know any different.”

His lips caressing the sensitive column of her throat made him difficult to resist. It wouldn’t be right. Buffy Summers would never do something like this . . .

The minute she thought it, Buffy knew she was lying to herself as the memory of Spike on the catwalk in the Bronze flared through her mind. It had felt so good before shame and guilt and self-loathing had robbed her of the pleasure of it.

And even if Buffy wouldn’t, Annie might.

“Please, girl,” Ethan’s soft words battered at the last of her resistance. “Need to feel you so bad right now.”

She surrendered. Recapturing his mouth, she rose up, giving him space to open his pants. In an instant she felt the plush curve of his cock prodding for entrance. Without another word, she sank back down, their groans swallowed by ravenous kisses.

He caught her hips when she moved to rise again. “I know you want to ride me like a carnival pony right now,” he said quietly, his eyes gone almost black, “but you do that and you’re going to give the game away.”

She whimpered in almost physical pain at the thought of not getting any friction from him. His arms tightened around her as he kissed her again, easing the frenzy of the contact into slower, more languid passion. “No rush, yeah?” He traced the shape of her mouth with his tongue before nipping at her bottom lip. “Just another pair of lovebirds petting at the show.’

“Ethan, please!” His heartbeat pulsed through her body as it made his cock throb within her. He moved her as though shifting her in his lap, allowing the briefest of thrusts to sweep ecstasy over her.

“You want more?” he asked roughly before bending to worry the hollow at the base of her throat. “Squeeze.”

It took a moment for her lust-addled brain to comprehend what he meant. Then she did what he asked, squeezing her internal muscles tighter around him. It was different, but it felt amazing, the intense pressure of him everywhere within her thrilling.

“Ease up, girl!” he commanded breathlessly as he took another kiss. Reluctantly she did, and was surprised to feel another ripple of pleasure wash through her. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she let her mouth communicate against his how good this felt. Her other hand came down to rest on his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles each time his arms moved.

“Again,” he demanded, and she responded instantly.

The noise of the crowd, even the throbbing music from the band, all faded away as she got lost in this erotic variation of intercourse. She would squeeze and he would shift, all the while their hands and mouths making an outward show that there was nothing more torrid going on. More than once Buffy had to fight the urge to stroke her hips against him. The restraint was what was driving her insane, even before Ethan added his voice to the mix.

“You have such a sweet little pussy, Annie,” he said against her cheek, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the din around them. “So tight and strong and wet. I want to taste you, Annie. Will you let me? Will you let me tongue fuck you until you’re all that I can taste?”

Buffy buried her face in the side of his neck to muffle her eager sob.

“I will,” he promised, cupping her breast through her shirt. “I’ll spread you out and lick you clean from top to bottom until you haven’t got a drop left. If Ripper gives me the chance.” His own hips were rolling now, forcing barely controlled cries from her each time he ground against her clit. “He’s watching us, you know.” His voice dropped even lower. “He’s up on stage watching us, and he’s the only one in the whole room who knows exactly what we’re doing. Poor bastard.”

Buffy turned to look up on the stage. Ripper stood there, singing madly. But his eyes were locked on them, and in the harsh stage lights she could see the curve of his erection through his leather pants. She rested her head on Ethan’s shoulder, still lost in the feel of his body, her arousal only fed by the intensity of Ripper’s gaze.

“Time enough for him later,” Ethan insisted as he tangled his fingers in her hair to bring her back. His mouth traced over hers in sensual possession and she was lost in him again. “You ready for the big finish?”

She nodded quickly, using the opportunity to rock against him.

His fingers dug into the padded curve of her ass. “Yeah, that’s it, girl,” he fairly purred through swollen lips, “squeeze the hell out of me.”

She did, narrowing her focus to the tight constriction of her inner muscles as they contracted and released in a rhythm designed to milk his cock hard.

It worked. “Holy fuck,” he swore reverently as his head rolled back. When his eyes met hers again, he breathed, “Don’t stop, Annie. Don’t you dare stop.”

She didn’t. It felt good to have this kind of power over a man again, and she lost herself in the steady beat of muscles and drums, determined to bring him off.

She wasn’t prepared for his bare thumb crushing her clit.

With a crash of cymbals, the world around her exploded in cheers and wild applause that seemed to celebrate the orgasm that wracked her body. The noise covered their uncontrollable cries as Ethan’s release shook her again. There was no way anyone watching them wouldn’t know exactly what they had just done, so it was probably a good thing everyone’s attention was focused on the stage.

Not that Buffy really cared in that moment who knew.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

They sat like that, still joined, gently caressing with mouths and hands as the cheering died down and the band started their encore. Ethan was the one to break off first as he pushed her back slightly to allow himself to withdraw with a wince. “You probably ought to go back to the loo and freshen up, yeah?” he asked, tucking himself back into his trousers and zipping up, still under the blanket of her skirts.

Glancing around, she leaned forward and asked in a hushed voice, “Aren’t you going to have a wet spot?”

His eyes glinted mischievously. Leaning forward, he grabbed a beer off the table and took a long drink as he slid her off his knees. Then with casual disregard, he dumped the rest in his lap. “Oops.”

Buffy couldn’t help laughing as she grabbed what napkins she could find and started blotting at his lap.

He caught her wrist. “That’s not helping matters, girl. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

Touched by his rough consideration, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. Then she went in search of the ladies room.

It was almost a comfort to find that one thing that was consistent on either side of the Atlantic and across three decades was the line for the ladies room. Buffy waited impatiently and a little uncomfortably for her turn, cleaning up quickly when she finally got a stall. She was startled when she came out to find Thomas standing there. His shaggy blond hair looked like he’d run his hands through it more than a few times, and his eyes were dilated, showing her sex and rock and roll weren’t the only recreations going on here tonight. “Thomas.”

“Thought I might find you here,” he said abruptly, as though trying not to forget the words. He shambled towards her, forcing her to back away from the safety of the main room.

“You thought?” All Buffy’s alarms were sounding. “Thomas, did you follow me?”

“No,” he insisted, backing her slowly back towards the wall, “I followed Ethan. That’s how it always works. First Ripper, then Ethan, then the rest of us. Ripper and Ethan had their turns, so why wait?”

He moved in, intent on pinning her to the wall, obviously not expecting her to be able to stop him. He looked surprised when she straight-armed him. “Hate to tell you, buddy, but I’m not some toy to pass around.”

“Sure you are,” Thomas insisted, finding surety in the buzz of whatever he had taken. “You’re the cunt they have on the side for when they aren’t too busy fucking each other. Won’t take you long to get tired of being their third wheel. So come on, baby, find out what a real man feels like.”

“Since there aren’t any around,” Ethan’s voice came low and ominous from behind Thomas, “I suggest you back off. She said no.”

Thomas snorted. “Like that means anything to you.” He didn’t budge, his eyes raking over Buffy aggressively.

“It means finding someone a little safer to come on to.” Ethan’s voice was even, although Buffy could hear the warning in it.

“Just means the bitch needs more convincing.” Thomas pressed forward, hands reaching for whatever parts of Buffy he could grope.

And suddenly he was gone, crashing against the far wall to collapse on the floor.

Ripper was right on top of him, dragging him back to his feet to slam him against the wall again. “What the fuck you think you’re doing, Sutcliffe?”

Thomas cringed. “Nothing! Shit, what’s your problem?”

“My problem,” Ripper said, giving Thomas another fierce shake, “is that you’re touching something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“But Ripper . . .” Thomas started to whine.

Ripper slammed him into the wall again. “Did I tell you you could touch her?”

“No, but . . .”

“Did I say you could even look at her?”

“Geez, Rip, it’s not like we didn’t see it all last night.” Thomas was starting to get indignant. “You’ll get tired of her in a day or two, you always do. You always give us your leftovers. Well, I wanted something a little fresh, before you two ruin her for the rest of us.”

Ripper punched him. The first blow drove Thomas’ head back against the stone. The second knocked him flat. Buffy’s instinct was to break them up, but Ethan stopped her. “Don’t.”

“He’ll kill him.”

“Thomas knew what he was risking when he came on to you. Besides, it’s over now.”

Sure enough, Ripper was backing off, leaving Thomas bleeding and barely conscious on the floor. To her surprise, Ripper turned and grabbed her wrist. “We’re leaving,” he insisted, dragging her along behind.

Buffy didn’t recover her wits until he was pushing her ahead of him into the alley. Yanking her arm away from him, she turned on him. “What was that all about?” she demanded, furious.

Ripper glowered at her. “He was bothering you.”

“You think I can’t protect myself from some grabby guy?” She saw Ethan follow them into the alley and take up position behind Ripper, watching them in amusement. “Hello, Slayer here!”

“Not the point.” He didn’t flinch. “He knows better than to touch what isn’t his.”

“God, you Neanderthal!” She was starting to get really pissed now. “Welcome to the twentieth century, buddy! I don’t _belong_ to anybody, and I get to decide who touches me and who doesn’t. And,” she poked him emphatically, taking satisfaction from his pained wince, “if I don’t like someone’s advances, I can tell him to take a hike for myself, got it?”

She gasped in surprise when he grabbed her arms and jerked her against him. But this time the feel of his hard, aroused body against hers didn’t distract her. He wasn’t in charge of her, and if he intended to turn verbal violence into physical violence, well, it was about time Ripper was the one left bleeding on the floor.

Something off to the left snuffled.

It was a low, almost bovine sound, seconded by a curious grunt. Together, Buffy and Ripper turned to face it. The demon standing there was all too familiar.

“What is it with you and Fyarls anyways?” Buffy groaned, already searching for a weapon. There wasn’t a lot of silver to be found in a dirty English alley. Then her eyes lit on the belt buckle she had noticed on Ripper earlier. “Is that real silver? Please tell me that’s real silver.”

“Yeah, but what . . .”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish, her fingers already deftly working the catch and yanking the belt from around his waist.

“Hardly time to be gettin’ into my pants, girl,” Ripper said, his eyes shifting between her and the monster.

“You wish.” She slid the leather back through the tang and cinched it tight around her hand so the buckle lay over her knuckles. The rest of the belt she wrapped quickly around her arm as she shifted her stance. “Stay back,” she warned both him and Ethan. “And if it looks like it’s about to sneeze, well, duck.”

She almost felt bad. Fyarl were mostly mercenaries, she knew that. But this one looked more lost than anything. She couldn’t just let it wander around, though, not with all these drunk college students everywhere. Someone was bound to antagonize it, and then there would be trouble.

It studied her curiously as she approached, its oversized head swaying as it watched her. God, it was big. Her best bet was going to be to try and get it on the ground and then focus on the vulnerable parts. Well, as vulnerable as this guy got.

“Believe me,” she warned, setting herself, “this is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.”

The first blow only pissed it off.

It bellowed and lunged for her, but its great, lumbering body wasn’t built for speed, allowing her to dodge easily. She hadn’t counted on the long reach of its arms. It backhanded her with an enraged roar and sent her flying across the alley to crash into the wall.

Flipping back up, she jumped up and caught the fire escape, using the momentum to slam her feet into its chest. It stumbled back a few steps before charging again, but Buffy didn’t stand still to wait for it. She flipped up over its head and lashed out on the way down, kicking it behind the knees. Flailing, it spun around, furious.

Before Buffy could try again, the Fyarl howled and stumbled to his knees, revealing Ripper standing behind it, a long length of iron drainpipe gripped in his hand.

She took the opportunity and slammed her armored knuckles into the demon’s face. “I thought I told you to stay out of this!” she shouted at Ripper over the creature’s roar of pain and fury.

“Bugger that!” Ripper smacked the pipe against the side of the Fyarl’s head. “You going to be all night at this?”

He was intentionally baiting her, and she let him, redirecting her anger into the furious blows she rained on the Fyarl’s vulnerable face. It gurgled and reached for her, but Ripper batted it in the ear, distracting it enough for Buffy to drive her fist into the creature’s snout with a sickening crunch. With a last watery growl, it toppled to the ground and was still.

Buffy unwound the belt carefully from around her hand, flexing against the impressions the metal had left in her skin as she scoped out the alley. “We probably shouldn’t just leave him here.”

Ripper nodded, already moving towards the creature’s shoulders. “Ethan, give us a hand.”

Ethan crossed his arms. “Oh, no, mate. You made this mess, you clean it up.”

Buffy draped the belt around her neck and picked up the demon’s legs. “Just open the dumpster, Ethan, please.”

With a put upon sigh, he did as she asked, allowing them to muscle the corpse over and heave it up into the bin, dropping the cover down over it again. Buffy dusted off her hands and clothes before turning back to Ripper. “Now, where were we?”

“Right about here.” His eyes darkened as he reached out and grabbed the belt still around her neck to drag her close, his mouth descending on hers demandingly.

And there it was, the surge of adrenalin that struck after every fight, preparing her for the next one. Her body didn’t care if the struggle was physical or sexual. Although with Ripper’s hard lines pressing into her, sexual was definitely gaining the upper hand.

She took control of the kiss, demanding access to the inner reaches of his mouth as this time she pressed _him_ back against the wall. Ripper reached up to catch hold of her hair, but she caught his hands and pinned them to the brickwork, grinding her stomach against his erection as he groaned in desperation.

Cool fingers brushed the hair off the back of her neck, and then Ethan’s lips were there, caressing over the tender skin as he asked, “Is this a private party or can I play, too?”

Without freeing Ripper, Buffy turned her head and traced her tongue over Ethan’s lips, opening her mouth to welcome him in as he pressed close against her back. Ripper struggled to get free, but Buffy held him tighter. With one last caress, she released Ethan to stare Ripper down. “Who do I belong to?”

He glared at her, finally grumbling, “No one.”

She tightened her grip. “Wrong answer.”

“Yourself!” he winced. “You belong to your bloody self.”

Easing her grip, she asked in the same even tone, “And whose girl am I?”

“Ethan’s,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“And?”

When he didn’t answer, Ethan slipped his arm around her middle and leaned forward over her shoulder. “And you’re damn lucky I let her share herself with you.”

Ripper didn’t look amused, but Buffy was. “And,” she went on, “if you want me, you’d better ask really nicely, got it?”

He looked furious, but she could feel him still struggling to get to her. Finally, he subsided. “Please, Annie. Wanna feel you. Wanna fuck you.”

The need in his voice made her tremble, but she stayed strong. “You call that asking nice?”

Ethan chuckled in her ear. “Small steps, pet. Can’t expect him to become a sensitive bloke in an instant. Now,” he nuzzled against her neck, “are you going to take pity on the poor boy and shag him here? Or shall we go home where it’s more comfortable?”

Her own desire was making her skin throb, but she was determined to make sure Ripper learned his lesson. She kissed him again, pouring all her own pent up desire into it until he was fighting against her to get free. Then she broke away, turning to casually head down the alley.

“Let’s go home.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

It was like having a tiger on a leash. It couldn’t get away, but that didn’t keep it from attacking you.

Buffy could feel them both behind her, following her back to the high street. Ethan caught up with her as they merged with the crowd and slung his arm around her in that casually possessive way he had. “You’re playing with fire, you know that?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She leaned into the gesture. “I can take him.” Then with less certainty, “Is he really ticked?”

Ethan shrugged. “Enough. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. We’ve made it too easy on him.”

“Why don’t you stand up to him? You could do it.”

“Too much work. Besides, the rewards make up for it.”

She cocked his head to the side. “Do you love him?”

Ethan pulled back to look at her quizzically. “Now that’s an odd thing to ask. What’s love got to do with anything?”

She was embarrassed and tried to pull away. “I don’t know. You two just seem so close, so connected. Like there’s more to . . . whatever it is you have.”

“You’re too hung up on old fashioned romantic notions, love.” He held on to her, not letting her get away. “Ripper and I have a mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more to it. Sex and love aren’t mutually inclusive. Hell, they aren’t even mutually exclusive. Don’t be trying to make more of it than it is.”

She resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder as they made their way back towards the car park. “Is he still there? He’s awfully quiet.”

“Oh, yes. Can’t you feel him? All heat and hunger.” Ethan gave a dramatic shiver. “Should make for an interesting night.”

“Interesting good or interesting scary?”

He just grinned.

Ripper beat her to the passenger door by two steps, yanking the door open and folding the seat down. “Get in the back,” he ordered.

Buffy glared at him.

Gritting his teeth, he added, “Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nice . . .” She climbed into the back to the sound of Ethan’s snigger as he got behind the wheel. Ripper made the whole car shake as he folded his long body into the back seat as well, kicking at the passenger seat angrily until it slid forward enough to make room for his legs. He slammed the door and slouched back in his seat. With another sullen kick, he knocked the passenger seat back into place.

He was sulking. It would take a little while for his anger to turn more aggressive, but Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to wait. His pissy mood was almost worse than his anger. Leaning forward, she said quietly over Ethan’s shoulder, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Just don’t break the boy,” he said in amusement. “I’ve got plans for him later.”

She ignored the wobble the thought of his plans caused to her insides. Instead she turned and, using the momentum of the car’s acceleration, shoved Ripper up against the car frame. “What the hell’s your problem?” Without waiting for him to answer, she pulled his shirt out of his pants, letting her hand trail over the hard muscles there. “You act like someone took away your favorite toy.”

His hand came up and gripped her hair, sending electricity skittering over her scalp. “I don’t like to beg for what I want,” he growled in frustration.

“I’m not asking you to.” In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought as she undid the fly of his pants.

“So what was all that back there?” He hissed when she drew his cock out, stroking it lightly.

“That was me telling you that everything you’ve done to me, I wanted. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to.” She bent her head and kissed his stomach, her own heart racing at what she was initiating.

“So you’re telling me you like me pushing you around?” His grip on her hair loosened, allowing her to move down further. This was a more intimate view of him than she’d had so far, and Buffy was surprised when her mouth started to water.

“Yeah, I do. Sexually.” She stroked her cheeks against his hard length, enjoying his reaction. “I’m always the strong one, the one who’s in charge. It feels good to let someone else take the lead sometimes.” Her hand curled loosely around his shaft as she placed a soft kiss on the tip, studying the thick length, the elaborate veining. “Now, don’t get me wrong, you try it in front of the others, I’ll put you down. I’m not one of your flunkies. But in the bedroom . . .”

“Or the lounge,” Ethan interjected.

“Or the bathroom.” Ripper’s voice was rough when he added to the list.

“When it’s just us,” she amended, “then you don’t have to ask. You can try to take.”

“Try?” He tipped her chin up to look at him.

She grinned up at him. “You might like it if I fight back.”

Before he could respond, she ran the flat of her tongue up the sensitive underside of his cock and sucked the cap between her lips.

His response was all she could have hoped. His hands clutched into the backs of the passenger and rear seats as he sucked in a breath, arching his hips up for more. But Buffy was in no hurry, spiraling her tongue over the convex tip before taking it back to start all over again. Slowly he relaxed, pulling his right leg up against the back of their seat and shifting his left to give her room on the floor in front of him, using the motion to shove his pants down further. Buffy slipped down to her knees in the tight space, never missing a stroke as she made herself more comfortable. The vibrations from the moving car shivered up the insides of her legs to add to her own arousal

The only thing new about this situation was the location. Oral play had always been Spike’s favorite activity, both giving and receiving, and he’d been more than happy to help her master her technique. Which was the polite way of saying she had spent a lot of time on her knees with his cock in her mouth while he told her in no uncertain terms the best ways to blow him. They’d never managed to do it in a moving vehicle, though.

What had worked for Spike seemed to work just as well for Ripper. He had his eyes closed and his head resting back against the frame of the little car, his jaw clenched as she took her time tracing every vein and curve. When he seemed on the verge of losing patience, she slipped her hand beneath his sac and slowly started massaging his balls. He groaned in pleasure, his hand cupping her head to caress her hair. She kept him on edge like that, enjoying a long, leisurely build before finally taking him fully into her mouth when she was ready.

The hand on her head clenched, pulling at her hair to force her down further. “That’s it, girl, suck it,” he growled, sounding like something from a bad seventies porn film. But by this point Buffy didn’t care, so lost was she in the trance of pleasuring him.

“Told you she was brilliant,” Ethan spoke from the driver’s seat. The knowledge that he was watching them in the mirror shouldn’t be turning her on this much.

“Yeah, god.” Ripper was looking down at her now, watching her work him. “Suck it harder, Annie. Wanna feel it.”

Buffy was tempted to stop and make some smart remark, but Ripper was so close and she didn’t want to lose the momentum. So she did as he asked, sucking as tightly as she could without accidentally hurting him. He moaned a curse as his whole body twitched, but then suddenly he was drawing her up, breaking the seal of her mouth as he lifted her to straddle his bare thighs, shoving her skirt up around her waist. “Not enough,” he grumbled, pulling her into a kiss. “Need to fuck you, Annie. Right now.” Even as his mouth plundered hers, he shifted her, searching for entrance, his hard cock prodding at thighs damp with her arousal.

“Not here,” she pushed him back, twisting ineffectually to escape him. “Anybody could see.”

“That didn’t stop you at the club.” His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer. “Besides, you could stop me if you really wanted to. You want this as much as I do.” His voice dropped even lower. “Say it, Annie. Tell me how much you want me.”

But she couldn’t speak as his cock found her center and thrust into her, winning her instant surrender. He moved to sit more squarely, allowing her to rest her knees on the seat on either side of him as he guided her into a steady rise and fall against him.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers knotted tight in her hair. “Is that leftover from the fight? Or is it all for me?”

Words were lost to her in the face of the delicious friction they were generating, so she just nodded and let him draw his own conclusions. The fight had certainly started her off, but it was everything after that had her so excited that the juices were trickling down her thighs and making soft sucking sounds every time he withdrew.

He pushed his hand up under her shirt to palm her breast roughly. “Harder,” he demanded, then cursed when she complied. “Christ, Annie, you feel like a fucking vice. So damn good.”

It was. Ripper was thick and hard within her, his shaft crushing against her clit as the car bumped and swayed in response to Ethan’s manic driving. Ethan had cranked up the radio into a pounding beat that was impossible not to copy. Buffy clutched at the seat on either side of Ripper’s head for leverage as she moved faster and faster, slowly forgetting him in her own growing desperation.

But he didn’t forget her. “That’s it, girl,” he rumbled, his hands now under her skirt to grip the bare globes of her ass, encouraging her to move even faster. “Fuck the hell out of me. Don’t stop, Annie, don’t you dare stop now. You’ll come when I do or you’ll have hell to pay.”

“Ripper,” she growled in warning.

He grunted and jerked. “Say my name again,” he snarled. “Do it.”

“Ripper.” This time it came out softer, more needy.

“Annie.” It was almost a sigh, warm against her face as he tightened his grip and locked her hips against his, arching up one last time.

The sound of that name went through her as powerfully as her own would have. It combined with the fierce throb of his cock to push her over at last. She fell forward, curling her arms around his neck, her whole body wracking as she came. His arms folded around her, protective and comforting. And suddenly this didn’t feel weird or strange at all.

It felt like where she belonged.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

“You two had enough?” Ethan’s amused voice came from the front seat. “Or you want me to drive a bit more? Maybe to Scotland and back?”

“Shut it, you,” Ripper snarled even as Buffy blushed and hid her face against his shoulder.

Ethan just laughed and parked the car.

Gingerly Ripper withdrew and shifted her back onto the seat beside him. Buffy started adjusting her clothes, but he interrupted her, cupping her chin to make her look at him. “If that’s the way you take charge, I could probably get used to it.” His words were put out, but she saw a bit of familiar softness around his eyes.

“I was going easy on you,” she teased gently, straightening her blouse without looking away from him.

“Go as hard as you want,” he said, his voice throaty. “I’m not afraid of you, little girl.”

She knew he wasn’t, despite knowing what she was capable of. Leaning forward, she caught his mouth again, surprised to feel her desire renewing.

“Now, don’t start that again,” Ethan complained good naturedly from where he stood by the open driver’s side door.

Buffy broke away with a coy smile for Ripper as he did up his pants, then allowed Ethan to hand her out of the car while Ripper got out on the other side.

Ethan didn’t let her get far, backing her up until she was leaning against the car, his eyes dark. “Did you have fun, little girl?” he said, low and sultry.

Rather than answer, she gave him a small smile and pulled his head down to kiss him. His mouth was already open when their lips met, eager but slow, coaxing where Ripper had demanded. She indulged in the richness of it before finally breaking off. “You aren’t jealous, are you?” she teased.

He shook his head, nosing gently against her jaw. “Nothing makes a girl more attractive than watching her get rogered by Ripper.”

The starkness of his words made her suck in a breath. He was trying to shock her, and it had worked. But she could play, too. “What’s the matter, Ethan, can’t get a girl of your own?”

His expression darkened. “I seem to recall not too long ago someone insisting that _you_ were my girl.” He pressed into her, the hard length of his erection hot against her stomach. “Did that change? You Ripper’s girl now?”

Buffy had expected his desire, even the trace of anger in his voice. What she hadn’t prepared for was the faint, haunted doubt in his eyes. How many times must he have lost out to his best friend to have that look now? She suddenly felt more compassionate, both for him and for the man he would become.

Laying her hand against his cheek, she let her thumb caress over the fullness of his lips. “I’m still your girl, Ethan.” And she pulled him down to seal the promise with a kiss.

They were interrupted when Ripper slammed the driver’s side door hard enough to rock them from their perch. “We standing out here all night?” he groused when they broke off to look at him. “It’s fuckin’ cold out here.”

Never taking his eyes off Ripper, Ethan leaned close to Buffy. “Now that one,” he said in a false whisper, “that one gets jealous.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “But of you? Or me?”

He chuckled. “Lady’s got you figured, Ripper!”

“Screw you, Rayne,” Ripper barked as he turned to storm towards the apartment building.

Still snickering, Ethan draped his arm around Buffy’s shoulder and followed him.

They had to stop and wait while Ripper unlocked the door to his apartment, and Ethan took the opportunity to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again, one strong hand on her ass to hold her against his erection. She welcomed it, curling her arms around his back and neck as she opened her mouth to him. After what had apparently happened last night and what they had already done today, there was no point in her being squeamish about who her partners were. And the secretive sex at the club and the hard, fast fuck in the car had only served to whet her appetite. Tugging his shirt out of his trousers, she slid her hands over his taut stomach, enjoying the way he flinched before she pushed the shirt up further, breaking their kiss to pull it off over his head. Then she handed it to him and pushed past Ripper into the apartment.

She kicked off her heavy boots by the door, stopping one foot at a time in the living room to tug off each sock and discarding it where she stood. The shirt she left it in the corridor, shimmying out of the peasant skirt to let it pool on the floor in the doorway. Naked, she crawled onto the bed, letting her ass sway in enticing display before she turned over and reclined against the pillows without saying a word.

They had both followed her, of course. Ethan stood at the end of the bed, his eyes almost black with desire as he undid his pants, skinning them down quickly before joining her in the bed. She barely had a moment to admire his naked body before he was covering her, hands caressing her hip and cupping one breast as his mouth came down on the other. Closing her eyes, she sighed and spread her legs, encouraging him between them until his weight rested comfortingly against her pussy. His tongue lashed over her tight nipple, sending electricity shooting through her as he rolled his hips against her. It felt amazing. Just like she had expected.

When she opened her eyes again, Ripper was standing in the doorway, watching them. He acknowledged her gaze with a quick tightening of his mouth, then began undressing as well, slowly revealing his toned, hard body to her hungry gaze.

She whimpered.

Ethan rose, moving into position at her desperate little sound. “Plenty for everyone,” he murmured. “Me first.”

“You first,” she breathed, drawing him down as he sheathed himself in her.

It felt good. Ethan inside her, Ripper watching, skin and heat and wetness and hardness filling her senses. Ethan started moving then and Buffy cried out, her hands clutching at his hips to encourage him faster. He complied, moving fast and hard until the whole bed was rocking, forcing her to reach up and brace her arms against the headboard.

Then the bed tilted and Ripper was there, his hand on Ethan’s ass to guide him, his dark hazel eyes locked with Buffy’s. He pushed Ethan to the side, making the two of them roll so that Buffy’s back was to Ripper.

She knew what was coming next.

Buffy continued the roll until she was kneeling over Ethan, taking control of their coupling, trying to ignore Ripper getting into the bedside table, slicking something over his cock to make it shiny and wet looking. Then he was beside them again, making her scream as he roughly forced one finger into her clenching ass.

Ethan pulled away from her desperate mouth to glare up at Ripper. “Go easy on the girl,” he chided hoarsely. “She doesn’t remember last night.”

She felt Ripper move into place behind her. “Well, she’s gonna remember this.”

A second finger thrust in to join the first, shooting fire through her veins. She struggled to maintain her pace, but when he scissored his fingers, she collapsed on Ethan with a despairing wail.

Ethan’s arms closed around her. “Just relax, pet,” he murmured against her hair. “The worst is over in an instant, and then it’s going to feel bloody amazing.”

She knew. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d taken a man up the ass. “Just do it,” she ordered, her face buried in Ethan’s shoulder.

Ripper withdrew his fingers to rest his hands on the curve of her behind. “What’s that?” he asked almost cruelly. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

She whipped her head around. “Just do it,” she snarled in animal need. “You want to fuck me in the ass, then do it. Or are you as big a pussy as Ethan says?”

Her derision had the desired effect. Growling with rage, he took her hips in both hands and slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt. Brilliant, sharp pain flared through her, followed instantly by a wash of ecstasy that drove all else aside. She sank back down so that Ethan filled her again and gave herself up to them as they started fucking her.

She was absolutely aware of every sensation, from the trickle of sweat and fluids trailing down the inside of her thigh to the ridges of their cocks catching on each other as they passed back and forth within her. Ripper grunted low and unintelligible, while Ethan maintained a steady stream of soft, filthy curses, the sounds of both filling her brain and drowning out her own eager, desperate cries of pleasure.

At last the friction and exhilaration overwhelmed her and she reared back as orgasm ripped through her. “Bloody fuck!” Ethan echoed her, arching up into her as he came in three fierce thrusts that sent her cresting again. Ripper didn’t stop as Buffy collapsed on Ethan’s chest, unable to support herself any longer. Ethan held her with tired arms as Ripper continued pulsing in and out of her tight, dripping hole. Suddenly he hissed and froze, but she could feel each jolt along his shaft as he came. He collapsed onto her back, trapping her between the two of them.

They lay like that, piled intimately together, their breath ragged and uneven, until finally Ethan reached up to give Ripper a shove. “Geroff, Rupert,” he mumbled grumpily. “You’re gonna crush poor Annie, you birk.”

Ripper grumbled but slid down to the mattress, drawing Buffy down with him, trapping her under the comforting weight of his arm. Ethan turned on his side to spoon up against her back, nestling his face in her hair as his breathing slowed.

Exhaustion captured her slowly as well, warm comfort seeping through her languid muscles to draw her down into blissful sleep.

She woke with a start, her heart pounding, her skin chilled and clammy as she fought for breath, dreams of pain and fire and isolation, of chasing something that was trying to get her still vapors in her mind. It was familiar and all the more frightening for it.

Something was different this time, though.

A slow, steady heartbeat thumped beneath her ear, and she realized she was curled up on Ethan’s chest as he held her, one of his hands resting on the slope of her breast. Ripper was behind her, his arm draped over them both as his hand rested possessively on Ethan’s bare ass. Ethan snuffled in his sleep and drew her closer, pressing a kiss against her hair without waking.

She relaxed slowly, safe in their cocoon, and drifted back to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

  
When Buffy woke up next, orange sunlight was seeping under the blinds from low on the horizon. She didn’t think it was morning anymore.

She yawned and stretched, enjoying the sudden flow of blood into relaxed muscles. Her right hand bumped into Ripper’s broad back, but the bed on her left was empty and cool. Instinctively she caressed the flat plane of it as she struggled to sit up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Not quite ready to be awake yet, she reclined back against the pillows until the lethargy of sleep wore off.

The bathroom door down the hall opened and Ethan wandered in, naked except for the towel he was using to buff his hair dry. His skin still glowed faintly with the last lingering dampness from his shower, highlighting the flex and shadow of youthful muscles. For the first time she was able to see his cock relaxed, soft and compact against the backdrop of his dark curls.

And then suddenly it wasn’t so soft, swelling before her eyes. Buffy looked up quick to catch him watching her, a knowing smirk twitching the corners of his mouth. She blushed and shrugged.

With a silent laugh, Ethan tossed his towel aside and knelt on the foot of the bed, nudging her legs open as he crawled closer. Pausing, he bent to kiss the inside of each of her knees, slowly caressing his lips up the sensitive curve of her thigh until she was gasping. When he pressed a moist, open mouthed kiss on her outer lips, she groaned aloud.

He circled her clit with the soft weight of his tongue before delving down into her welling center. Buffy closed her eyes, savoring each stroke, certain from the painstaking care he showed that he would be quite content to do this all day.

She’d be happy to let him.

Another warm mouth on her breast made her gasp. Ripper was there when she opened her eyes, his attention fully focused on the tight nipple he tongued, blowing over it softly to watch it pucker before going down again. His right hand fondled her free breast as he worked, thumb brushing roughly over the tip to bring it to prominence as well.

It was soothing and electric all at once, and Buffy didn’t fight it. Instead she rested one hand on each head, gently caressing Ripper’s rough curls and Ethan’s softer waves as their mouths worked their magic on her.

Most of the next two days she spent in that bed. She didn’t mind at all.

After that, things settled into more of a routine. Ripper had his gigs, and Ethan went about his questionable business. And Buffy lived Annie’s life. Annie had it pretty good. Buffy would be jealous, if she weren’t Annie.

Buffy actually slept, enjoying the first eight hour stretches of sleep she’d had pretty much since being called. They went to bed, if not to sleep, as the sun was coming up and rose in the late afternoon. It was a nice change not to be trying to live two schedules, short changing both. She ate regularly, even if it was heavy bar food more often than not. She even cooked occasionally, although the only recipe she knew that wasn’t dependent on a lot of packaged food that wasn’t available yet was her mom’s spaghetti sauce. The guys didn’t seem to mind, wolfing it down and asking for more. It was good for her confidence. She refused to clean house, though.

Nights they weren’t doing anything, Buffy would go out and slay. Often Ripper would go with her. They didn’t talk much, Buffy because she didn’t dare and Ripper probably because he was trying to leave everything behind and had little to talk about. They would hunt until they were both too buzzed to hold back, and then they would fuck wherever they were, whether it was the grass in the cemetery or a darkened booth in the back of a pub. In those encounters he was never gentle, for which she was grateful. It felt good to be handled roughly, not to be treated like she was fragile and delicate. She pushed back, hard, and he seemed to revel in it, egging her on until she was sure she was doing real damage. The rougher she was, the harder he came, and she found that power intoxicating.

Ethan was another matter. The one thing that seemed consistent between him and the older man she knew was a fierce dedication to protecting his own skin. So Buffy often found herself in ropes, tied spread eagle to the bed frame or butterflied, her wrists and ankles tied to each other, allowing him the freedom and safety to tease her and pleasure her to his own satisfaction. Where Ripper was direct and brutal, Ethan showed more artistry, taking his time, lingering and withdrawing, using anything at hand, even Ripper, to arouse her until she begged him to fuck her. She would be nearly sobbing by the time he brought her off.

The relationship between the two of them enthralled her. They never talked like they were more than just buddies, but Buffy noticed they were rarely long out of each other’s presence. And they weren’t shy about fucking in front of her. It was always rough and casual, like it didn’t mean anything.

But some nights she would wake up and see a different side of them. Ripper would be stroking Ethan’s hair while Ethan blew him, Ripper’s soft words of encouragement and pleasure whispering around the room. Or Ethan would be pressed up against Ripper’s back, undulating slowly as he murmured gentle affection against Ripper’s neck, his hand keeping time with his hips on Ripper’s cock until they both would come almost silently. Buffy couldn’t help watching them. They were too compelling in their quiet intimacy to turn away. It made her want to weep sometimes, knowing the scorn and hatred and anger that would grow between them over time so that when they met in Sunnydale twenty-five years from now, it would be electric and it would be intimate, but there would be nothing gentle left.

Buffy never said anything, never intruded, just watched them silently until they finished and then closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. They would exchange a few last kisses and soft words before laying down on either side of her, their sweat-sheened bodies warming her through as they went to sleep. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had curled around each other like this before she was here to come between them.

She was grateful for all of it.

This was what she had been trying to find in Italy without success. Everyone had been so adamant after Sunnydale fell that she was free now, that she could move on with her life. But just because the town was gone didn’t erase everything that had happened there. And it wasn’t like there was a psychologist anywhere in the world that she could talk to who wouldn’t lock her up in an instant. That much she knew from experience. So she had tried to move on and failed miserably. The demons always found her, no matter how much she tried to avoid slaying. She still had her responsibilities to Dawn and was ashamed at how relieved she had been when Dawn applied early for admission to Cambridge and been accepted. Her attempts at relationships were a disaster. The guys all wanted something from her, prestige or devotion or even just her undivided attention. And she wanted them to heal her, to fill the holes that had been carved out of her over the years. The one night stands weren’t any better, leaving her feeling cheap and empty. Isolated.

This was different.

Ripper and Ethan didn’t expect anything from her. They didn’t put any demands on her emotions. She did what she wanted, they did what they wanted, and the two just happened to mesh. But she wasn’t alone. Buffy never felt shut out or closed off from them. They both lived so much on the surface of their skins, and she was starting to be like that, too, without worrying that she was hurting them with what she felt. She didn’t have to hide what she was. They knew she was the Slayer, and they didn’t care. There was no amazement at what she was capable of, no demands that she fulfill her destiny, no competition to defend their manhood. They just treated her like any other girl. Well, maybe not any girl. Their girl.

Even the sex was therapeutic. There were no ugly surprises in the morning. They didn’t turn into vicious monsters afterward. Playing rough wasn’t bad or degrading or hurtful. It was just playing. There was no shame in enjoying it. And they didn’t expect anything from her afterwards, no professions of undying love and devotion, no commitment. It was something they did because it was fun and it felt good. Love was something else. Like Ethan had said, the two weren’t mutually inclusive. Buffy found a lot of comfort in that.

Life went on like that, week by week as she grew comfortable in Annie’s skin. Part of her knew she should be looking for a way back, but she wasn’t ready to give up this sanctuary yet.

She lay in bed with Ripper, both of them relaxed and content after a pleasant little fuck that had lacked their usual edge. Ethan was off somewhere. Buffy never asked where he went. If it was another girl, she didn’t want to know, and if he was doing something criminal, she didn’t want to have to stop him.

Ripper lay on his back, his eyes closed, one hand resting on his stomach as his breathing slowed. Propping her head up, she studied his face, trying to find traces of Giles in it. His shaggy hair fell down over the high forehead that was showing only the faintest hints of the creases that would be carved there. The skin around his eyes was smooth, with no crows’ feet or pouches to mar them. She could just make out the faintest hollows where his smile would dimple his cheeks. He didn’t smile much. He hadn’t even smiled a lot as her Watcher. So where had he developed those so familiar creases?

It was when he opened his eyes that she really saw it. Relaxed, they were a paler shade but still knowing, quick and incisive. She had once recognized those eyes in the face of a demon. She’d know them anywhere.

“What’re you doing?” he grumbled, interrupting her reverie.

She smiled. “Watching you,” she said, lifting her hand to trace her fingertips over the outlines of his face.

“Well, knock it off.” He let his eyes fall closed again.

Amused by his petulance, Buffy moved closer, letting her fingers trail down his neck to follow the bones of his chest. “I know your secret,” she murmured playfully.

He cracked one eye. “What secret?”

She traced his ear with her lips. “You’re a big fraud, Rupert Giles. You play it so tough, but I know inside you’re just a big cream puff.”

Ripper closed his eye again, but she felt his arm curl around her to pull her up against him. “You’re daft.”

Laughing softly, she kept going. “You’re like a big M&M, all hard and crunchy on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.” Bending her head, she laid a trail of kisses along the track her fingers had marked. “You would have made some lucky girl a hell of a Watcher,” she added with more seriousness.

“Not if she were anything like you,” he snorted as one hand came up to bunch her hair. “I couldn’t shag her to shut her up when she started talking rubbish.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” she breathed, gasping when his grip tightened.

“Yeah.” His eyes darkened as he suddenly moved, flipping them to press her down into the mattress. “You make a lot more sense when your mouth’s too busy to talk.”

Buffy giggled until his lips and hands robbed her of all ability or desire to say another word.

She should have known it was too good to last.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

Buffy lay on the couch, leaning against Ethan and actually reading a book for a change. He was reading as well, his free hand stroking her hair absently between turning the page.

Ripper came out from the bathroom in his usual half-dressed state, going straight to the fridge to grab a beer. He popped the cap off and leaned casually against the wall as he took a swallow. “You ask her yet?”

Buffy glanced up to see Ethan shoot him a withering look. “Not yet, thank you so very much,” Ethan grumbled.

She looked from Ethan to Ripper and back, suspicion growing at the meaningful glare that passed between them. “Ask me what?”

With one last harsh look at Ripper, Ethan looked down at her. “It’s nothing to get in a twist about. We just need a little help is all.”

Buffy struggled to sit up, putting a little distance between them. “What kind of help?”

“You ever done any magic?” Ripper asked bluntly before taking another pull from the bottle in his hand.

“A little,” she admitted. “Nothing major. That was more,” she almost said the name, “my Watcher’s thing. Why?”

“Ethan’s doing a working tonight.” Ripper set his beer on the table and moved closer. “Needs you to help.”

“What kind of help?”

Ethan stroked her arm. “Only what you do best, pet.”

Her stomach rolled. “You want me to kill something?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, girl,” he chuckled, catching her hand to lift it to his lips. “I don’t need you to do anything more than what you were planning on, anyway. Namely shagging Ripper senseless.”

She must have looked puzzled because Ripper sighed in frustration. “There’s energy in sex,” he explained impatiently, “energy that can be tapped when working magic. Didn’t your prat of a Watcher teach you anything?”

Trying not to laugh hearing him basically insult himself, Buffy admitted, “I wasn’t really paying attention. I was always more interested in staking things.”

Ethan grinned. “Well, looks like it’s you that’s gonna get staked, girl,” he said, drawing her back into his arms.

“What’s the spell?” she asked, still unsure.

“Nothing dreadful.” He seemed more interested in her cleavage than their conversation. “Just powering up some wards. Not worth getting fussed about.” He looked up again, nonchalant. “If you don’t want, we could always ask Deidre.”

“Just for that I shouldn’t,” she chided him. “Either I’ll help you or I won’t. Don’t try to manipulate me.”

“Shut your gob, Ethan,” Ripper growled. He caught Buffy’s hand and yanked her to her feet, catching her up in a fierce embrace as his mouth came down on hers in that masterful way that made her knees weak. When he pulled away, his expression had softened. “Give us a hand, will you, Annie?” he asked in gentle appeal. “It’ll be more fun with you.”

It was sweet in a weird sort of way, melting the last of Buffy’s uncertainty. “When?”

“Tonight,” Ethan said firmly, rising from the couch to insert himself between them. “And hands off until then. Save all that lovely sexual tension until I can put it to good use.”

It was a long afternoon. Ripper seemed to be prowling around on the edge of her awareness constantly. Funny how you didn’t want something so bad until you were told you couldn’t have it. Her head buzzed and her body ached with need for him, aggravated by Ethan who kept finding moments to caress her, kiss her neck, press into her and otherwise tease and arouse her. He must have been doing the same to Ripper, but she didn’t dare look at him to find out for fear she would surrender to the need blinding her and jump him.

Ethan grew more distant as afternoon turned to evening. He disappeared for a while, only to reappear dressed in a black robe, his eyes equally dark. “It’s time.”

Buffy hadn’t been in the apartment’s second room before. She’d assumed it was just storage or something. Instead the room was nearly empty. Piles of cushions littered the corners and a small table was set near one end of the room, covered in a black cloth and set with the kinds of knick knacks she was used to seeing on the shelves in Giles’ office. The walls were a kind of amber beige in the flickering light of a dozen candles scattered in a seemingly random pattern around the room. Buffy could just make out an elaborate design on the floor, barely discernable in the half light.

“Get undressed,” Ethan commanded, not even looking at them as he went to the altar.

To her surprise, Ripper obeyed instantly, pulling the t-shirt off over his head and tossing it aside.

Uncertain, she followed his lead, turning her back to them in sudden modesty. It was one thing to be undressed by someone as a part of foreplay, but something else entirely to undress yourself. She stripped quickly, methodically, trying to ignore the presence of the two men in the room with her.

She jumped with an embarrassing squeak when Ripper’s bare arm slid around her waist, holding her as he pulled her back against him, his erection pressing into the small of her back. “Relax,” he insisted, tracing his mouth along the sensitive curve of her throat. “It’s not like this is your first time.”

“Doing it like this, it is.” She covered his hand on her stomach with both her own to stop them from trembling. “I feel like I’m on stage or something.”

“Mmm, that should be fun,” Ripper purred as he brushed his fingertips over her thighs. “You and me up on stage, hundreds of people watching you spread your legs and show them your pretty, wet pussy before I fill it up with my cock . . .”

“You aren’t helping,” she scolded, barely able to breathe. Which was true in more ways than one. Her nerves trembled in agitation even as the flush of arousal at the image he conjured trickled down her leg.

“Did I tell you to start?” Ethan snapped, interrupting them.

Ripper didn’t seem the least bit repentant. “Just gentling her for you,” he said, not turning away from Buffy. “She was getting skittish, I didn’t want her to bolt.”

Ethan snorted derisively. “She’s not one of your gran’s mares, Ripper. Besides, Annie’s not afraid of anything, are you, girl?”

Buffy met his eyes, surprised to see they had gone almost completely black. But there was still something in them that was part confidence, part pride, that warmed her. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good.” He was instantly all business again. “Then both of you get in the middle of the circle.”

Ripper grabbed up a cushion which he dropped at their feet as they took up their positions in the middle of the floor.

Ethan wasn’t pleased. “Did I say you could have that?” he barked.

“You’re not the one sitting bare arsed on the floor for the next two hours,” Ripper replied, not rising to Ethan’s dominance. “If you don’t like it, you can go fuck yourself.”

Genuinely angry for the first time Buffy had ever seen, Ethan stepped towards Ripper menacingly. “You’ll do what I tell you, mate,” he spat the epithet harshly, “or you’ll have blue balls for the next three days and be grateful that’s the worst I do to you. Get me?”

Ripper resisted momentarily before finally nodding.

When Ethan moved off, Buffy had to ask, “Why do you let him talk to you like that?”

“Because it’s fun,” Ripper shrugged. “Because he wasn’t just whistling out his ass. Because I get to spend the rest of the night shagging you while all he can do is watch. Just because.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “There isn’t always a reason for things, Annie. Sometimes shit just is. You’ll make yourself crazy looking for answers to everything.”

There wasn’t really an answer to that. “So,” she shifted uncertainly, “do I get a cushion, too?”

His expression turned smug. “You’re gonna have something a lot more comfortable to sit on, pet.”

He didn’t elaborate. Buffy waited uncertainly for him to take the lead. He didn’t do anything, simply turned to face her. He didn’t touch her, didn’t move. It was so uncharacteristic of him, she started to get nervous again. “What do we do?” she whispered.

He smiled benignly. “Just wait.”

In the background, she heard Ethan begin to murmur. But her attention was fixed on Ripper. He was watching her intently, relaxed but totally focused. Her eyes settled on his and she was lost in them, for the first time making out the fine details, the subtle shading and blending from brown to green, the delicate zig zags that made up the iris, the fathomless depth of the pupils. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away. Slowly their breathing fell into synch, making her even more aware of him, making her skin quiver as though drawn to him. But it wasn’t just him. It was as though all her senses were heightened. She could place Ethan without looking at him as he circled the room, feel the air thickening around them. She swayed, unsteady under the onslaught of sensation. When Ripper put his hand on her waist to steady her, she whimpered at the ecstasy of skin on skin.

“Steady on,” he murmured, not pulling away. “It’s only gonna get better.”

It didn’t seem possible.

Ethan had returned to his altar. “Now, Ripper,” he said disinterestedly, totally absorbed in what he was doing.

Ripper sank down onto the cushion with his usual careless grace, pulling Buffy down with him to sit astride him. “Put your legs around my back,” he instructed, crossing his own legs beneath her. She did, and found their bodies brought intimately closer, hearts and eyes level. He reached between them to guide his shaft to her center. Buffy closed her eyes as he took his time entering her, friction and need driving her closer to orgasm inch by inch until he filled her completely.

Then he stopped moving.

Through the haze of need clouding her mind, she struggled to comprehend what he was doing. The only logical answer seemed to be that he was waiting for her to move, so she did, rolling her hips in a long, slow circuit that slid her down his length and back, making him groan aloud.

Instead of letting her continue, his hands gripped her hips, holding her in place. “Not yet,” he insisted through gritted teeth.

“Ripper, please,” she begged without hesitation, “it’s not enough, please!”

“Shh, now.” His hands began stroking almost comfortingly along her back. “You’re gonna get everything you need. Just relax and enjoy wanting something this bad.”

What he said made no sense to her in her desperation, but he held her and comforted her until the frenzy receded. Slowly her heart rate slowed, her breathing matching his again. She could feel the fine hairs on his chest tickling her breasts, the constant subtle flex of his haunches against her legs as he supported her. Ethan only vaguely registered on the fringes of her awareness, circling and chanting quietly. But slowly she became aware of tendrils of energy threading out from her and Ripper, felt Ethan weaving them, tugging them, erotic and intimate, making her gasp.

“Almost there,” Ripper breathed against her throat, and suddenly she realized he was as moved by this as she was. Buffy relaxed more knowing that, her arms curled around his neck as she rested her head against his, still aware, still aroused, but without the previous urgency.

It started slowly, so gradually that at first she didn’t even notice the gentle rocking putting pressure on her sensitive clit. His mouth started moving over her skin, his hands more aggressive as they caressed her. She was already gasping in pleasure by the time what was happening sunk in.

“Not yet,” Ethan’s perturbed voice intruded.

“Fuck you.” Ripper bucked his hips, and Buffy cried out at the feel of him moving inside her. “’ve waited long enough. Do it now.”

He didn’t wait for Ethan’s reply, picking Buffy up enough to switch their positions so that she was lying beneath him, the curve of her back supported by the cushion which arched her closer to him. Without a word he withdrew and slammed into her again.

Buffy gasped on the withdrawal, then cried out as he thrust. This was what her body had been crying for, the sensations only heightened by the lingering buildup. She tried to wrap her legs around his waist but he stopped her, using her ankles to lever them to rest against his shoulders, lifting and opening her even more as he fucked her, his hands clutching her ass for balance. Her fingertips fought for purchase on the hard floor to keep from sliding, her mouth desperate and hungry on his when he pressed down to kiss her.

There was no warning. The pressure of his cock, the demand of his mouth and hands filled her and overflowed. She drew a startled gasp before her back bowed and her head snapped back, the orgasm ripping through her coming out her mouth as an irresistible scream of pleasure.

“Fuck yeah, Annie,” Ripper cursed, never slowing his punishing pace. “Don’t you stop. Don’t stop now. Gonna fill you, Annie. Gonna be the best thing you’ve ever oh fuck!” He lost control and dropped her, his hands slapping down to brace on the floor on either side of her head as he shot over and over into her clenching channel.

It was Buffy’s turn to hold Ripper now, freeing her legs to caress along his sides, her hands stroking his hair and back as he sagged in relief. They kissed almost gently, too tired and sated to make anything more passionate of it.

“You almost ruined it, Ripper.” Ethan sounded irritated and almost childish.

Ripper winced, gingerly withdrawing from Buffy to roll over onto the floor next to her, propping himself up on his elbows to glower back at Ethan. “We gave you plenty of time. If it takes longer than that to cast a simple set of wards, you’re losin’ your touch.”

Ethan had set aside his robe and now loomed over them, dressed only in his black jeans and a scowl. “They weren’t simple wards, and you bloody well know it. You’re just damn lucky I was almost ready.”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re ready?” Ripper shifted, rising to his knees as he reached out to grab the waist of Ethan’s jeans and draw him nearer. “We’ve been working magic together for two years. You don’t need to tell me when you’re ready. I can feel it.”

Buffy had the feeling they weren’t talking about the ritual anymore as Ripper undid Ethan’s fly to reveal his swollen, dusky cock. Ripper leaned in, and she saw his tongue flick out over the domed tip before returning to circle it so slowly it made her ache.

Ethan looked at her, the darkness in his eyes now from lust. “You gonna just sit there?”

Another time she might have resisted. Another time she might have played coy. But not now. She rose to her knees and crawled over next to Ripper, leaning forward to press her own kiss of submission on the tip as Ripper moved out of the way. Then together they began working, lips and tongues colliding as they moved back and forth on Ethan’s shaft. Ethan rested his hands on their heads, part blessing, part mastery, and sighed his pleasure. “Oh, yeah, that’s brilliant.”

Like two dogs sharing a bone, they pushed each other, striving to bring him off, tonguing each other as much as they were him. Finally Ripper veered off, moving down to suckle Ethan’s balls into his mouth, making Ethan hiss. Buffy grabbed the opportunity to take his tip into her mouth, her tongue whirling fast and strong around the ridge.

She was surprised when he shoved her away. “Ripper’s the one being punished here,” he said in a hoarse voice. He pulled away from Ripper’s mouth only to return an instant later, forcing Ripper to swallow his full length. Ripper glared up at him but succumbed, his eyes closed as he gave Ethan what he wanted.

Ethan’s hand still cradled Buffy’s head, so she relaxed, resting her temple against Ethan’s hip as she watched his cock disappear over and over into Ripper’s willing mouth. She could feel Ethan tensing, his orgasm building as Ripper moved faster, sucked harder.

Then suddenly Ethan wrenched himself away with an angry growl. Before Buffy could resist, he yanked her to her feet and shoved her back against the wall. “Fuck if I’ll give him the satisfaction,” he swore, his knee already shoving her legs apart, his hands holding her wrists pinned to the wall. “Beg me for it, Annie. I wanna hear you beg.”

“Please, Ethan!” He was already pushing into her, his cock throbbing against the sensitive flesh of her pussy. She begged anyway. “Please fuck me! Need to feel you, Ethan!”

He shuddered when at last his full length was sunk into her. She held him tight and started rocking to encourage him, but he didn’t need any encouragement. With a violent breath, he drew back and slammed into her, crushing her against the wall. She cried out, which only seemed to encourage him to do it again and again until they were fucking each other wildly.

The weight on her suddenly doubled and Ethan cried out in pain and surprise. Buffy felt Ripper’s arms dig into her as he braced himself against the wall, pinning Ethan between them. “You call this punishment?” he demanded, the slow roll of his hips and Ethan’s accompanying groan telling her she wasn’t the only one being penetrated.

“Just shut up and fuck me.” Ethan punctuated his command by thrusting into Buffy again.

Ripper did as he was told, building a syncopated pace that had them all gasping and swearing. Buffy wrapped her legs around Ethan, her heels digging into Ripper’s haunches to spur him on.

Ethan gasped and snatched her to him as she felt the familiar jolts shake his body. She was just drawing breath to cry out her own release when Ripper swore fiercely and collapsed into them, the added pressure on her clit all Buffy needed to explode into orgasm.

Ethan pulled her down onto a pile of cushions as the ecstasy released them, resting his head on her chest as he tangled his limbs with hers. Ripper leaned back against the wall, sweat making the fine hairs around his neck and face curl. It took him a few minutes before he opened his eyes to look down at them. “So, did it work?”

Buffy tried to focus, but a second powerful orgasm in so short a time left her mind scattered. It didn’t help that Ethan was trailing his fingers over her stomach with the threat of moving lower. So she was barely aware when Ethan confirmed, “Yeah, it worked. Rock solid. Nothing’s going to get in we don’t want.”

“Good.” Ripper crossed his arms, anticipation lighting his features. “Then there’s nothing stopping us from summoning Eyghon tomorrow night as planned.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

Buffy’s blood froze.

She had forgotten. How could she have forgotten, when she’d looked into all their faces the first night at the club and realized they were all doomed? “Eyghon?” She sat up and moved away from Ethan, glaring at him in a flare of anger. “You said we were setting up wards?”

He sank back into the cushions. “We did. Don’t want anything coming in or out during the summoning.”

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Buffy surged to her feet, snatching up the pieces of her clothes before she snapped on the overhead light. Both men winced at the sudden brightness, but she didn’t care. “Do you have any idea what you’re messing with?”

“Power,” Ripper said, not shifting his position. “A bigger rush than any drug without all those unpleasant side effects.”

“Side effects?” She jammed her head through the neck of her shirt and glared at him. “You’ve got a pretty casual way to talk about people getting killed.”

Ethan sighed and sat up. “Nobody’s getting killed, Annie. We’ve got it all under control.”

“No, you don’t. God!” She pulled on her panties and then jerked up her jeans, fear and anger making the actions violent. “You’re like a couple of little boys with fire crackers, and you’re just too stupid to know you’re about to blow your hands off!”

“You little hypocrite,” Ripper growled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that? You think I didn’t notice? That I don’t know what you did?”

“What are you talking about?” Anger overwhelmed any confusion in her voice.

He was on her in an instant, his hand fisting her hair to wrench her head down as he exposed the back of her neck. “Did you think I wouldn’t see this?” His finger mapped roughly over something there, and suddenly she realized what it was. The last lingering scar from where she had had the mark of Eyghon removed. “What happened, Annie, you screw up? Get cold feet?”

She ripped out of his grasp, not caring that she left strands of her hair behind in his fist. “You stupid son of a bitch!”

“Don’t lecture us, Annie.” He didn’t let her get any further. “You wanted it, too, or you wouldn’t have the mark. Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“You can’t,” she said flatly, assaulted by the memory of him curled up on the floor of his apartment, drunk and unwashed and drowning in guilt for what he had created. “You can’t handle it, and when it goes wrong, you won’t be able to stop it. People are going to _die_ because of it. Do you really want to be responsible for that?”

His expression was stony. “Oh, boo hoo. Stop being so melodramatic. We’ve summoned demons before. We’ll be fine.”

She wasn’t going to get through to him, stubborn as he was. Instead she knelt down next to Ethan, locking eyes with him so he couldn’t escape her. “Ethan, please. You don’t need to do this. Can’t you find something else?”

With a benign smile, he reached out to caress her hair. “You worry too much, pet. Ripper’s right. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Frustrated, she pulled back. “You haven’t seen someone Eyghon’s taken control of. You don’t know what it’s like to watch your friends rotting away alive.” She looked from him to Ripper, who was on the other side of the room jerking his jeans up his long legs. “I’ve seen what Eyghon can do. I _know_ what’s going to happen and what it’s going to do to you. You can’t control Eyghon, and when he gets free, you won’t be able to stop him.”

“Fuck this.” Ripper buttoned his jeans and glared at her. “I don’t have to stay here and take this from you. Bitch. I’m out of here.”

“I mean it, Ripper.” Buffy intercepted him. “I know what’s going to happen, and I’m not going to watch it again. If you go through with this, I’m leaving.”

He whirled on her. “Fine by me. We didn’t ask you here, Annie. And we don’t fucking need you. You want to leave, leave. In a week, we won’t even remember you were here.” With that he shoved past her. Buffy just stood there until the front door slammed.

“Ethan.” She turned to him, desperate to convince him.

He rose to his feet, tense and angry. “Why do you have to be like this, Annie?”

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you two.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Please, Ethan. You have to believe me. Nothing good is going to come from this.”

“Just drop it, girl.” She was surprised when he jerked away. “Ripper’s right. If you don’t want to be a part of it, fine. But don’t be a bitch about it to the rest of us.”

“Ethan . . .”

But he had already walked away, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door. She heard the lock fall into place, shutting her out.

She couldn’t give it up, though. Not knowing what she did. Somehow she had to find a way to convince them. But neither one of them wanted to listen. Ethan came out again after he showered and tried to seduce her into silence, but for once his soft, teasing words and gentle touches didn’t affect her. Finally he gave up and locked himself in the bedroom to escape her.

Ripper didn’t come back.

Exhaustion caught up with her, so she lay down on the couch to wait for Ripper to return. She slept fitfully, vague, intense dreams of horror and death making it less than restful.

Finally she heard the door open and sat up, blinking quickly to clear her eyes in the bright sunlight, marshalling her arguments. She was going to stop this, even if she had to knock him out and drag him away to do it. Anything to spare him the pain she knew was coming.

But it wasn’t Ripper who came through the door.

Deidre smiled meanly when she saw Buffy on the couch, the tousled afghan evidence that she had been sleeping there. “What’s the matter, Annie,” she gloated, “they finally get tired of you? Knew it was just a matter of time.”

“Shut up, Deidre.” Buffy glanced at her watch. It was past two in the afternoon. Where the hell was he?

Deidre ignored her. “Guess the novelty of a Slayer held their attention a little longer than usual.” She smirked. “Still, boys will be boys.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Buffy snapped. “Now, have you seen him? Have you seen Ripper?”

“What’s the matter, Annie?” Deidre laughed cruelly. “Afraid he’d come to me for a bit of comfort? Well, he knows my door is always open. Hell, he’s had the key for a year.”

“And yet he’s still never used it,” Buffy couldn’t resist sniping back. “I just need to know if you’ve seen him today.”

Deidre sighed, obviously disappointed that she couldn’t get more of a rise out of Buffy. “No, I haven’t seen him today. Got a call from him this morning saying to show up here tonight. I had something for him, so I dropped by early.” She pulled a small silk bag out of her pocket, then looked at Buffy thoughtfully. “But I bet these were for you, weren’t they? If Ripper’s moved on, guess he won’t be giving them to you after all. Maybe I’ll just keep ‘em for myself.” She opened the bag and drew out the contents.

They were the beads from Giles’ study.

Buffy couldn’t breathe. In all the time she’d been here, it had never occurred to her to look for them. It would have been an impossible search. And truthfully she had stopped looking for a way back by the end of the second week. But now here they were, in the hands of her biggest rival. The opportunity for disaster chilled her blood. “Deidre, give me the necklace.”

“Bugger that.” She slipped the strand over her head in defiance. “What’re you gonna do, beat me up, Slayer?” She snorted.

“I’m warning you, Deidre.” Buffy stepped closer, trying to keep her hand from shaking as she held it out. “You need to give me that necklace right now.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Her hand closed around the beads. “You aren’t Ripper’s favorite toy anymore. He doesn’t remember the girl he was with before you, and he’s not going to remember the girl that comes after you. You’re just one in a long line, Annie,” she sneered, “but I’ve been here, and I’m going to be here long after the lot of you are forgotten. Because I’ve got something none of you have.”

Buffy didn’t take her eyes off the beads. “And what’s that?”

“Power.” Deidre stepped closer, staying out of arm’s reach. “I have it, and I’m not afraid to use it. I’ve watched, you, girl.” Her eyes latched on Buffy, she started circling, never moving closer. “For all your destiny and your gifts, you’re too gutless to use them. You could have anything you wanted, just reach out and take it. Instead you pull this whole noble crap.” She stopped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You may have run away from your keepers, but you’re still just another animal in the zoo. And I’m out there looking in at you.”

“You don’t understand the first thing about power,” Buffy snarled through gritted teeth. “But you’re going to get a hell of a lesson if I can’t talk some sense into Ripper. Now give me those beads!”

“Fuck you, bitch!” Deidre’s eyes were fiery, but she still backed away. “I don’t know why you even had to come here! We were doing just fine before. Now all Ripper and Ethan have time for is their precious Annie and their crazy-assed magic. You know what I wish?”

“Deidre, no!”

She didn’t even slow. “I wish you’d just go back to wherever the hell it is you came from! Nobody wants you around here, Annie, not anymore.”

It was too late. Buffy felt the magic start to twine around her even before Deidre finished speaking. She surged forward in one desperate attempt to grab the beads . . .

And fell to her knees on the floor of Giles’ study.

Right where she had left from.

“Oh, god, no!”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting London after her stay in Italy, Buffy makes a wish that takes her back in time. In this time, her boyfriend is Ethan Rayne, and his partner in crime Ripper seems to have a certain claim on her attention as well.

  
It was nighttime, the only light in the room the bit that spilled over from the hallway. But she knew it was Giles’ room, recognized the shelves of books and artifacts, the scent of old paper and incense and leather.

She hadn’t been able to save them.

Horror turned to despair as she realized that thirty years now separated her from Ripper and Ethan, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the tragedy they were about to unleash.

No. She couldn’t let that happen.

Rising to her feet, she crushed down the panic swelling inside her. There was still a chance, if only she could find . . .

She started scrambling at the shelves in desperation, cursing herself for not being able to remember where she had found those beads in the first place. She tossed the shelves, her fingers madly clutching for the strand and finding nothing. What if he’d moved them? What if they’d somehow disappeared when she’d used them? What if. . .

Her shaking fingers touched cool, hard glass.

With a cry of joy, she snatched them down, clutching the loop in both hands as she whirled around. “I wish—“

“Buffy?”

The sound of Giles’ voice in the doorway froze her tongue.

He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light behind him. He was dressed in his robe and his hair was tousled with sleep. Reaching out hesitantly, he flipped the light switch, bringing up the dim illuminations from various lamps and sconces around the room to illuminate the haunted expression on his face. “Buffy?” he asked again in a hoarse, disbelieving voice.

She burst into tears.

In an instant she crossed the room to throw herself against the comforting familiarity of his broad chest, unable to stop the hysterical sobs that wracked her body.

At first he seemed hesitant, uncertain what to do with his hands. Slowly his arms came around her until he was crushing her close, whispering solace against her hair as she cried.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered between breaths. “I never should have made that wish. I should have tried harder to stop you. To stop Deidre. I should have done _something_.”

“Shh, Buffy, hush,” he crooned gently. “You aren’t making any sense. Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t want to.” She pulled back to look up at him, gulping for air as she fought to control herself. “It was Deidre. She made the wish that sent me back.”

“Deidre? Deidre Page? Buffy, you aren’t making any sense.” He drew her over to the sofa and sat down with her, taking her hands to sooth her. “Now, tell me what happened.”

She took a deep breath, fighting to quell the hysteria still bubbling inside her, and poured out the whole story, from the time she made her ill-thought wish until Deidre sent her back again. She was too agitated, still too concerned for Ripper and Ethan, to hold anything back from him. He couldn’t think any worse of her for having taken the two of them as lovers than he already did for Angel and Spike.

For his part, Giles sat quietly, just listening, occasionally stroking her shoulder or her hair, never speaking, never taking his eyes off her.

She was calmer by the time she finished. Giles would know what to do. Giles could help her fix this.

When he spoke, it was in a hushed, almost reverent tone. “I always wondered,” he said carefully. “You always seemed so like her.”

Buffy’s stomach dropped.

“Of course you were much younger than she was when I first met you,” he went on, voice stronger, “and it had been so long since I’d last seen her, some of my memories had faded. At first I thought perhaps you were her daughter or her sister, until I met your mother.” His voice softened.

“Giles,” she backed away, barely able to speak, “why do you remember? You shouldn’t remember anything. She wished it all away.”

“No,” he corrected her gently. “If what you related to me is accurate, she didn’t wish it away. She wished you back where you came from. Which is apparently this time and this place. If perhaps not this reality.”

Struggling for composure, she wiped the tears from her face. “Is this one of those world without shrimp things again?”

He looked puzzled. “I suppose you could say that.” Reaching out, he plucked several tissues from a box on the end table and handed them to her. “I think,” he emphasized the word in that way he had that let her know he was on uncertain logical ground, “that what happened is that when you made your initial wish, by the very nature of it you were forced into an alternate reality.”

“Um,” Buffy tried to make sense of it and failed. “Huh?”

He smiled affectionately, stroking her arm to reassure her. “Let me see if I can’t put it another way. In the world you come from, Annie never existed, yes?”

“I don’t think so.” She wracked her brain trying to think of any evidence to the contrary. “You never talked about her if she did.”

“Your Giles didn’t,” he corrected. “I spoke with my Buffy often about her. She had made quite an impression, our Annie did.”

Buffy felt a stab of guilt. “Giles, I . . .”

He held up a hand to stop her, a brief flash of pain quickly covered. “So in your line, what we might call Buffy Prime, there is no Annie. That line is inviolate. When you made your wish, you set the parameters. Had you wished to have been a fly on the wall when your Giles was younger, that is precisely what would have happened. Had you wished you had seen him back then, you would have been any of a number of people he would have encountered on a daily basis.” He reached up to adjust his glasses and seemed surprised to find them absent. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest. “But because you wished to _know_ him back then, you established the implicit understanding that there had to be some sort of ongoing interaction between the two of you. This couldn’t happen in your timeline, so the energy of the wish found or created a line in which it was possible. This line. When Deidre sent you back, she didn’t comprehend any of this, so her wish found the simplest and most direct way to answer it, by returning you to your proper place and time, but still in that secondary line.”

“So it’s not too late.” She clutched the bead still knotted in her fist and held them up. “Giles, I can still go back. I can save you and Ethan from Eyghon! All I have to do is—“

“Buffy, no.” His large hands closed over hers, drawing them to his chest. “Some things happen for a reason. We did the ritual in your time, too, didn’t we? That’s why Annie was so insistent that we stop?”

She nodded. “Randall died then. And then Eyghon came back for the rest of you twenty-five years later.”

“Is that how you got the mark on your neck?”

Buffy reached up to cover the back of her neck, the outlined scar barely detectable against her palm. “Ethan put it there to try to escape.”

Giles chuckled. “Well, wasn’t he resourceful.” His eyes drifted from hers, lost in his own memories. “Randall died in ours as well. You almost got through to us, you know. It’s why I left. I knew how close I was to giving in to you. The others weren’t willing to give it up so easily. So it was Randall who embodied Eyghon that first night instead of one of us. But he didn’t have the strength of will to contain it, and Eyghon took him. It didn’t let him go until we decapitated him. With nowhere else to go, Eyghon crossed back over to wait for his next opportunity.”

“Please, Giles, let me go back. Let me save them!”

“Buffy, think about what you’re asking.” His eyes turned flinty but his voice remained compassionate. “If it weren’t for the disaster of that ritual, I might never have gone back to the Council, would never have been your Watcher. Is that what you want?”

“No.” She looked away, guilt from her own selfishness making it impossible to meet his gaze. “But I don’t want that at the cost of the lives of other people.”

“That is our responsibility, not yours.” He lifted her chin again. “We knew the consequences going in, Buffy. We have only ourselves to blame for what happened. You mustn’t fault yourself.”

“I was just . . .” She blushed faintly. “I was just really happy there,” she admitted faintly. “For the first time in a long time, I was happy.”

His smile grew tender. “As were we, believe it or not. You were a good influence on us, which shouldn’t surprise me, knowing you as I do.” He lowered her hands, opening them to reveal the beads inside. Taking them from her, he stroked them gently with his fingertips. “These are dragon’s tears, you know.” He grew slowly more distant as he spoke. “I tracked them down for you . . .” He stopped and corrected himself sheepishly. “For Annie. They’re difficult to come by, as they have to be imported from one of the demon dimensions.” He fell silent for a moment, lost in his study of the beads and the memories they invoked. “After Annie had been with us a few weeks, I started to realize I didn’t want her to leave. So I found these for her, hoping she’d use them to wish herself free of the Council and stay with us.”

“Oh, Giles.” It was her turn to close his hand and hold it comfortingly.

He pulled himself together. “You have to go back.” He spilled the beads back into her hand. “Your own timeline needs you. You need to wish yourself back.”

His sudden return to pragmatic Giles was a jolt. “What about your Buffy?” she asked uncertainly. “Should I wish her back from wherever she ended up?”

His eyes got that haunted look again, but he simply shook his head. “I’m certain once you’re gone, things in our line will return to the way they ought to be.”

“Giles.” He waited for her to speak, but there really weren’t any words to express the jumbled confusion in her head. So instead she did the only thing she could think of.

Leaning in, she caught his mouth in a gentle kiss.

He hesitated for a moment before his hand cupped the back of her head, his mouth opening against hers to welcome her exploration.

It was so familiar and yet so different, like a cover of a favorite song. A good cover. His lips were firm and sure against hers, less demanding than Ripper had ever been but with the same confidence. She could feel Ripper’s fire still burning within him, tempered and tamed by the years of experience that separated him from his younger self. It was so familiar, and the last time she would ever feel it.

To her surprise, he broke the kiss first, his eyes still closed as his thumb brushed over her cheekbone. “I’ve missed you, Annie,” he said gruffly, obviously struggling with his emotions. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Buffy couldn’t stop the sudden rush of silent tears. She didn’t try. “I’m going to miss you, too, Ripper,” she whispered.

Without another word she rose to her feet, never taking her eyes off of him as she looped the strand of beads around her fingers and closed her hand. Then she called up images of a world where Spike was dead and Angel worked for the enemy, where Giles was a strong, comforting, overburdened father figure and Ethan Rayne was a snide, self-centered bastard. A world that needed her, and that she now could see she needed, too. A world she didn’t need to hide from anymore. The images firmly in place, she said, “I wish I were back in my own world, in my own time. I wish I were back where I belong.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Giles sat on the sofa for a long time after she left, just staring at the string of tears lying on the empty floor where she had stood. Finally he stood up and walked over to them, bending over to pick them up. To his surprise, they were still warm from the heat of her skin. He drew them across his palm over and over, watching the dim light glint off the polished surface of each bead. It would be so easy to make his own wish, to set the clock back, to find a way to change the past . . .

“Ripper? Everything alright?”

Ethan was standing behind him in the doorway. Giles knew without turning that he was dressed only in the silk sleep trousers he had gotten for Christmas, still unashamed of his body despite the years it now carried.

Giles didn’t look around. “Do you ever think of Annie, Ethan?”

“My, you are going back, aren’t you?” They were both silent, each lost in their own thoughts before at last Ethan answered, more subdued, “Yes, I think about her sometimes. Considering all that happened, it would be difficult not to.” He let the silence linger a little longer before asking, “What brought this up?”

Giles curled the beads around his fist. “I was talking to Buffy tonight.”

In an instant, Ethan had crossed the room. “Rupert,” he chided, a comforting presence bare inches from Giles’ back. “Buffy’s been dead for five years now. It’s time to let her go.”

“I know.” He closed his fist over the beads. “I can’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t still be alive if I hadn’t let my memories of Annie get in the way. If I hadn’t been so worried about Buffy running away the way Annie left her Watcher, if I’d been stricter with her, made her train harder, maybe she’d still be alive. Sometimes I wish—“

“Rupert.” Ethan curled his hand over Giles’ shoulder. “You did everything you could for the girl. She died protecting the people she loved. Even Annie couldn’t fault that.” His voice became softer, coaxing. “There isn’t always a reason for things. Sometimes things just happen. You’ll make yourself crazy looking for answers to everything.”

“You’re right,” Giles admitted, Ethan’s words sounding vaguely familiar. “It’s hard not to think it sometimes, though.”

“You think too much, Ripper.” Ethan pulled away, tugging lightly at Giles’ shoulder as he did. “Come back to bed now. Joyce is starting to worry.”

“Yeah, I’ll be in in a minute.” He waited until Ethan had gone before stepping over to the desk, letting the necklace pool from his fingers into the middle of the blotter. He stared at them, lost in the memory of the girl he’d lost and the one he’d found again after all these years.

When finally he was able to turn away to follow Ethan, he paused in the doorway, glancing back to where she had sat, where he had touched her, where they had kissed one last time. Then with a quiet, “Good bye, Annie,” he turned off the lights and went back to his lovers.

Things didn’t always happen for a reason. But sometimes they did.

Sometimes they helped you let go.

 _  
**  
FIN  
**   
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is. A short PWP that turned into a full length novella. I was really surprised at how much I enjoyed writing this, playing with these unusual combinations. Even though Joyce did get extremely jealous. Yeah, that ending wasn't *quite* what I'd really planned. You argue with her. Scarlettgirl, I hope this scratched your itch. And everyone else who took a chance reading it, thanks. I know it was a risky one, and I hope you feel suitably rewarded for your bravery!


End file.
